Over My Dead Body
by Nyx6
Summary: When Roman Reigns takes a temporary job at the offices of Dean Ambrose, a messy headed, downtown Private Eye, he doesn't expect to witness a murder (if it even is a murder, since he's not sure on that), or end up gaining a platonic life partner who is dead set on solving the mystery himself. Even if it might just end up killing him. Yep, it's going to be one of those weeks.
1. One

**Okay, so I was going to wait until I'd finished posting my Chloe and Mox story before I started posting this one, but in the end, I just can't wait to get it out there into the world. So here, please accept this a couple of weeks early. My new story, for your viewing pleasure. Also, this might be my new favourite thing I've written. Even though it drove me to distraction at times.**

**Hope you like!**

* * *

**ONE**

The crumbling brownstone has been split into offices. Although describing the rooms as _offices_ is probably kind of a stretch, since the sign on each door seems more shady than the last one and decidedly less legal.

Lawyer. Bail bondsman. Thai Massage and not _one_ of them the business that Roman is looking for, which Rachel from the agency had scribbled down on a Post-It note and then passed over the desk with a flinch of apology. He had taken it from her with a good natured frown,

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing," she had chirped way too hastily, which had meant she'd been lying. Roman had given her _the look_, the one that he tends to let loose on his daughter when she's done something wayward but won't tell him what and which clearly also works on bespectacled twenty somethings, with a penchant for dungarees and frizzy black hair.

"It's just that the guy is a bit of a weird one."

Roman had blinked in response,

"Weird _how_?"

"Well, I mean I don't know _exactly_," Rachel had shrugged at him, "But he's had nine temps in the past eighteen months and the last one only lasted an hour before quitting."

In hindsight it hadn't been the most positive of starts and looking around at the beaten up brownstone with its peeling flock wallpaper and its cracked art deco tiles, Roman can see why the last person scarpered. And the one before that. And the one before _that_. There is a woman stood smoking outside the massage place, which from what he can see only has a bed inside and not one of those flat white _massage_ type beds either, but a very well used looking _regular_ bed. Which he figures answers the question about the nature of her business. Not to mention the legality.

He smiles,

"Morning baby girl. Wonder if you could help me. See I'm looking for – ,"

"He's up there," she drawls back lazily with a point towards the stairs, not even letting him uncrumple his Post-It, "Second floor, around the corner, first door on the right."

He blinks,

"Uh, thanks."

"But I _could_ be your baby girl," she bats her eyes at him, "For the right price that is."

Roman waggles his wedding ring at her and then chuckles,

"Nah, sorry, not this time baby girl. But you be sure to have a nice day now. Oh and hey stop smoking, because those things'll kill you."

"Screw you."

Taking the rickety staircase as instructed, Roman rounds the bend into yet another hall, although this one is darker since the window at the end of it has clearly been broken by something or some_one_ and then patched up with boards, which means that it's kind of difficult to even make out the faded letters on the door. Although he manages. Just.

_Dean Ambrose, Private Investigator_.

Or in other words exactly what Rachel has scribbled on the note. Roman knocks against it and then stands for a second as nothing comes back at him.

He tries a second time,

"Hello?"

Behind the crimped glass he can hear something moving and so he gently twists the handle and then steps into the room, not really sure what to expect from a _weird one_ but still not prepared for the chaos he finds.

The office itself is probably one of the bigger ones, since it seems to span not one but _two _rooms, the first of which has the original plaster mouldings and wooden window casements and a paper strewn wooden floor. Because boy oh _boy_ is there paperwork everywhere. It's like a god damn _tornado_ has blown through the room and flung open the drawers of the dark hued wood cabinets and left mess on every surface, including the chair, which Roman can just see under the debris like the place is supposed to be a waiting room of sorts. Although it looks like a while since anyone has used it. Or_ wanted_ to perhaps.

"Uh, anybody here?"

A pile of papers on the couch moves suddenly and a rat sized ball of fluff comes barrelling out, snarling and barking like a mastiff or something, although a hand scoops him up before he makes it to the door, or to Roman's ankles for that matter.

"Seth no. Sorry man, he gets that like, _Napoleon_ deal sometimes an' goes around thinkin' he's like, ten foot tall ya know?" the guy who has grabbed up the snarling little cotton ball gives him a rueful looking grin that says _kids_, then fishes a doggie treat out of his pocket and puts Seth back down, "So what can I do ya for my man? Need dirt on a client? Because you _gotta_ be a lawyer to be all dressed up in a fancy lookin' suit like that and oh holy crap, are you wearin' a _waistcoat_?"

Roman pulls his jacket folds in,

"I'm not a lawyer."

"Damn," the guy huffs snapping his fingers, which makes the bangs bounce over his hooded blue eyes, "Then what _are_ you here for? Because I don't do wiretaps _or_ put trackers on cars, but if you need proof your wife is like, cheatin' with her tennis coach then _that_ I can do."

"The agency sent me."

Dean pauses,

"_What_?"

Not that Roman even knows who he is yet, since neither one of them has been formerly introduced, but he figures that with all the talk of detective stuff that it has to be and so pulls out his credentials,

"The McMahon temp agency. I'm Roman Reigns."

Probably-Ambrose gapes back in astonishment,

"Wait. _You're_ my new secretary?"

"Well, actually we kind of prefer to call ourselves Office Managers, because it sounds more important. But basically brother, yeah, that's me."

"Fuck," more-likely-than-not-Ambrose breathes back at him, before hastily putting out his hand, "Hey man, I'm Dean. Cool name by the way. Uh, hope I didn't like, _offend_ you with the secretary deal."

"Nah, no harm done," Roman smiles, "And besides, after meeting your neighbor in the hallway, I think the least I can handle is a little secretary jibe."

Dean grins instantly,

"Who, you mean Sunny? Trust me, her bite is _way_ worse than her bark. She once chased a John outta here with a _chainsaw_ when he tried to short change her. But I mean like, on the _plus_ side she watches the door like a freakin' hawk or somethin', which has gotten me out of a jam like, one or two times. Or okay, three or four times, so I mean she's not _all_ bad."

"Does that happen often?" Roman asks, feeling cautious. Not that he's never been in a fistfight before, but he's certainly never been in one while he's been working and he's not sure what the guidelines from the office on brawls are.

Dean shrugs evasively then scratches his head,

"Uh, you know. Now an' then – uh – think the last time was when I had that blonde temp. Guy came in an' threw a tire iron at her."

Which Roman guesses answers why the last clerk only lasted there an hour.

"Still," Dean chirps, "At least I got Seth now. My last client won him from his ex-wife in the divorce, but was gonna like take him to the freakin' pound or somethin', so I made the little guy part of the bill."

He pets Seth fondly on the head as he passes and the little dog tries to take a chunk from his hand, which Ambrose either misses or else isn't fazed by since he simply grins instead,

"So, this is the place," opening his arms out and then scratching his head again, Ambrose points at various parts of the room, indicating things mostly buried beneath paper, or else about to be, "Uh, so this here's the waitin' room, an' the space next door is kinda the office," more head scratching, "Uh, well, I mean, it's got a desk. Except everything's a bit like, _jumbled up_ at the moment because I was tryin' a' find somethin'."

"Find what?" Roman asks, hoping that the answer is a needle in a haystack given that's about the chance they have of finding whatever it is. Ambrose shuffles his feet somewhat awkwardly and then itches his hair again, which Roman figures is a nervous thing. Well, either that or he's caught fleas from the building – which doesn't seem unlikely – or possibly from Seth.

"My toothbrush," Dean shrugs, "It's been kind of a tough few months for the business, an' my landlord was bein' kind of a dick about the rent. So me an' Seth have like, sorta moved in here. You know, like _temporarily_ or whatever."

Roman blinks.

When Rachel had called him _a bit of weird one_ she hadn't been kidding in any way shape or form and yet despite the damn dog and the mountain of chaos and the fact his new boss has nowhere to live, Roman can't help but feel weirdly _excited_, like he had done back before his forced change of career and when big airy office blocks and sprawling conglomerations with brightly lit file rooms had become his whole life. Because surely working for a real life investigator has to all beat _that_ crap.

Right?

He looks to his left and then spots a cluster of bright green looking bristles sticking out of a mug under a file beneath the couch. He stoops and picks it up,

"Is this what you're looking for?"

Dean's face lights up,

"Fuck. I got a good feelin' about this Reigns," he grins as someone downstairs begins to bellow, which bleeds up through the floorboards and makes Seth ditch his treat to instead start barking and growling through the woodwork, "You an' me are gonna make a pretty great freakin' team here."

Roman nods,

"I sure hope so."

What the hell has he done?

* * *

**Weekly updates on this one, as usual. Hope to see you next week, same time, same place!**


	2. Two

**Thanks for much for the feedback and interest guys! I love this story so much and can't wait to start unfolding it for you. Right now though we have a cooldown chapter that is a bit of background filler on Roman and how he got to this particular party we're about to have. Time to flesh out the Big Dog a little more. **

**Hope you like it!**

**Wolfgirl2013, Happy to have you on board as always!**

**LHisawesome4ever, Yay! So glad to have you with me for the ride (because trust me, this one is going to be a ride!)**

**Minnie1015, I don't know where I come up with it either. I can sit for weeks without any new ideas and then something can slap me around the face for no reason and voila! The next thing you know, Dean is a PI and Seth is a dog!**

**SkittlezLvr79, The bromance is back and better than ever in this story. Roman and Dean's friendship completes me (although they are going to need to get to know each other a bit first!)**

**Rebel8954, Haha! Glad I have you hooked. Not too much intrigue in this chapter, but I'm totally going to make up for it after that. You might want to fetch your thinking cap for this story!**

**Skovko, I know, sorry Seth (no I'm not) but he will be an integral character and let's face it, he does make a very cute (angry, little) dog!**

**Cheryl24, Actually Seth is a pretty pretty Pomeranian in this one. I wanted something a teensy bit prissy (again, sorry Seth...not really!)**

**ViolentHugger03, Hello and welcome! Always happy to have new readers. Strap yourself in, because this story is going to get wild!**

**I-Am-WarKitten, Haha, trust me, this is a scenario I never knew I needed to write either and yet here we are! Loved writing this story though, so hopefully you'll love reading it too!**

**Guest, Many thanks!**

**Not-that-kinda-gurl, Aww, thanks. Can't wait for you to read the rest. This story is a good long one too, with plenty of twists and turns (although we've got a nice cosy chapter here with a bit of background to ease you all into it!)**

**HannonsPen, Hey girl! Glad to hear that you're ready to step aboard the crazy train again. Please keep your hands and arms inside the car at all times!**

**Phoenix lord of rebirth, I just had a sudden itch to write a murder mystery (no idea why) and wouldn't be satisfied until I had it all down on paper! Hope you enjoy!**

**xXBalorBabeXx, Welcome to another story! Hopefully this chapter will go into some more detail about why Roman took the job and what's going on in his life (because let's face it, a story can never have too much Roman!)**

**Wrestlingfanforever, I'm not sure how I thought of it either, but I just suddenly knew I had to write it. Hope you enjoy the rest!**

**Mandy, Hey there! Knew you would join the party! Seth is definitely a fun little character in this story (I think you'll like dog Seth more than human Seth!) but it's definitely a Dean and Roman story...because they're the best kind!**

**Here we go then...**

* * *

**TWO**

As opposed to his new boss who lives in his office, Roman has a house on the opposite side of town. The nice side, where you can't even see the high rise buildings, or the central business district, or the J Roebling bridge and which is _still _the best thing to have come out of his playing football. _Other_ than his beautiful wife and kid of course, who are pretty much the only two people who'd stood by him when his ACL had torn for the second damn time and put paid to his dreams of being a legend, or doing any work _besides_ categorizing company files.

His wife is stood by the cooker when he gets in, still dressed in her scrubs as she stirs Bolognese sauce and helps their daughter with her history homework in the perfect picture postcard of domesticated bliss.

His daughter is sat with her hair in scruffy pigtails and is bent in so close to the paper that her nose is grazing the text. She has her tongue tip poked out too as she finishes writing and then reads the next question,

"The Statue of Liberty was a gift from – ,"

"Me," Roman growls in his huskiest timbre, before suddenly ducking down into her neck and then planting a very loud raspberry into it, which makes the kid shriek and drop her pen.

"Papa, _noooo_."

She sounds like Ambrose when he'd been trying to scoop Seth up, except a hell of a lot cuter and more ticklish besides and plus his _real_ house don't have a blonde downstairs neighbor who runs a small one bed brothel and creates more smoke than a chimney pot. Unless one has moved into the basement without him knowing. He'll check later on.

"So, how's the new boss?" his wife asks casually as he slaloms round the countertop and puts his hands on her hips before nuzzling into her neck and kissing the gap between her shoulder and her jawline, which still smells like the perfume she'd put on before her shift. Along with the coconut shampoo she always uses and something else which he thinks might be the Bolognese sauce.

It's more or less what he had done to their daughter, except crucially without the childish raspberry blowing part and knowing it the little girl seated behind them makes a soft _bleurgh_ noise and then sticks out her tongue, since clearly she is worried that the two of them will get cooties, which she and her little school friends are pretty much obsessed with now, like it might be the biggest threat to life since typhoid, or the invention of gunpowder, or possibly the Black Death. Not that Roman particularly minds it and especially if it means her swearing off boys. Because if she can keep it up, or possibly move into a nunnery, then he figures he will die a very happy old man.

"Do you think you can work with him?"

"Who?" Roman grumbles, reaching around his wife to try and swipe some Bolognese and getting a spoon across the knuckles for his trouble.

"Your new boss," his wife huffs at him fondly, "Is he nice?"

Roman blinks.

"Uh, yeah, he seems like a good dude. But _boy _does he need to learn how to file," not to mention him needing an actual _apartment_. Although he doesn't say that part.

"Oh? What does he do?"

"Private Investigating."

"What?" his wife blinks at him, "You mean, like _Magnum_?"

"Kind of," Roman grins, "But, you know, without that big ass old moustache, _or_ the Ferrari and now you mention it he doesn't have the flowery shirts."

"Isn't that dangerous?"

Roman pauses for a second as his mind flickers over his conversation with Dean and the part about the guy who had thrown the tire iron, not to mention all the temps the guy has been through.

He shrugs,

"Nah. He just needs help sorting his files out. Has a dog named Seth though. Real nippy little thing, so I'm pretty sure at _some_ point I'm gonna get bitten. If you consider that dangerous?"

His wife raises a brow,

"So you're _not_ going to ask to go with him on stakeouts, or whatever it is he does?"

"Of course not baby girl," Roman snorts, although he peels himself away from her to grab a bottle of water from the fridge, in the hopes that she can't hear his sudden awkward throat clear, _or_ feel his big hands tense across her hips, since really he's never been good at lying to her. Which is probably how she'd known that he was going to propose to her before he'd got the words out,

"_Baby girl will you – ,"_

"_Yes."_

"Because I know how rough the last twelve months have been for you, what with the injury," she carries on in the present day, "And how much you miss the big excitement of game day. And I _know_ that office temping isn't exactly your dream job. But we really need the money and – ,"

"Hey," Roman pulls her closer and then rocks her gently from side to side on the tiles, like a thirteen year old couple at prom in junior high school, "We're gonna be just fine. You hear me baby girl?"

Sucking a breath in she nods into his shirt front and then, like flipping a switch, she's back to being a mom again and one of the strongest damn women in his universe. Up to but not including his mom, who honestly is probably kind of tied for pole position. Along with his sisters and his grandma and his aunt.

"Honey, go wash up for dinner," she tells their daughter, who is watching from the table, "We can finish your homework after your bath."

Her wide child's eyes flicker over to her father, who nods in reassurance.

"Go on now baby girl, because while you're gone I'm gonna fill in these questions," crossing over to the table he pulls her booklet in close and then pretends to totally mess up her answers, "Now, let me see here. What did Ben Franklin invent? Huh. Now let me think. Was it the phone or the hoverboard?"

"Nooo," she squeaks, as he picks up her pen and pretends to ink _robots_ into the answer box.

"The sooner you wash up, the sooner I stop."

"Okay papa, _okay_," she huffs back at him, sounding like her mother as she wiggles from her chair and then takes off in a trot along the hallway.

Roman grins,

"Or was it the refrigerator?"

"Papa _stop_."

His wife has moved back to the stove to serve the food up, but he knows for a fact that there's something else that's on her mind, in the same way that _she_ knows whenever he's lying to her and what's more he knows precisely what that _something_ is too, since it's pretty much all that the two of them talk about. Or at least it _is_ since his god damn ACL had given out.

He sucks in a breath,

"Have they run out of overtime?"

Her shoulders slump in defeat a little,

"Yes. I asked today and they couldn't give me any, which I kind of knew was coming. But I thought I had a few more months. Because I mean, it's been fine while Marie's been on maternity and they needed the hours covered, but she's due back next month and the hospital doesn't want to pay for two people to be doing the same shifts, which I can't blame them for, but that extra money has been keeping us going and so without it – ,"

"We'll think of something," Roman rumbles in return, trying not to sound as damn guilty as he's feeling, since he's the whole reason they're in financial straits. Because after all, _he's_ meant to be the husband. _He's_ meant to be the breadwinner. _He's_ meant to provide,

"I'll just find another job in the evenings," he offers, "Or take some extra temp work outside of the Ambrose job, because I know they sometimes have more out of town stuff."

"_Or_ we could rent out the basement."

He blinks,

"What?"

"Well why not?" she shrugs, "I mean, it has its own entrance _and_ its own kitchen,"

"And a spider colony," Roman snorts, although he figures that even their arachnid filled basement beats living in a two roomed brownstone office like Ambrose does and so therefore it isn't the _worst_ idea ever.

"I mean, all it would need is a clear out and some paint. _Ooh_ and maybe some nice new cushions and a pastel color scheme."

Damn, he loves her so much. Reaching towards her as she pulls off her apron, he pulls her against him for the second time that night and then kisses her on the lips in the way that he hadn't when their cootie fearing daughter had been watching them before.

Breaking apart, she blinks up,

"What was that for?"

"For putting up with my sorry broken ass," he grins back, "And for somehow always trying to make the best out of everything."

She raises her brows cheerfully,

"Well, it _is_ for better or for worse and you _did_ help me through some pretty bad cravings when I was pregnant, remember?"

Roman chuckles at her,

"What? You mean the dill pickles and ice cream? Damn, you're right. You owe me a _whole_ lot."

"Ha," she rolls her eyes and then tiptoes back up again, but for a sweeter kiss this time and more reassuring, "Besides, none of what's happening right now is your fault babe. Plus you lost _way_ more in this whole thing than me, because you lost your career and your sponsors and your buddies."

Because, oh yeah, hadn't _that _been a kick in the teeth? His former teammates having less and less time to hang out with him and then him gradually being left out of get togethers and team stuff. Or else having to work when everyone else was socializing, since he no longer had a three hundred thousand dollar wage. Or, come to think of it, even a _shred_ of that,

"You need to be happy too Roman," she says, rubbing her thumbs over the whiskers of his face fuzz and blinking up at him sadly. He smiles at her,

"Hey, as long as I've got you and our kid then I will be," he rumbles soothingly, giving her a peck on the head and then pulling her as close as he can physically get her. At which point their daughter walks in and covers her eyes,

"Eww. Gross."

"I'll give _you_ gross kid," he growls in response to her, striding across the kitchen and then sweeping her up, before letting her little body fold upside down completely, with her knees hooked safely over his hefty forearms as he walks around and listens to her squealing.

His wife lifts up a brow,

"I hope you know what you're doing. Because if she gets sick before dinner then don't say I didn't warn you."

But she's grinning as well because how could she not? And for a second Roman briefly forgets that he's careerless and working in a glorified slum downtown, with a man who collects lost pets instead of payment and brushes his teeth out on the fire escape and who is _also_ the only reason he'll be getting a paycheck this month. Provided he lasts longer than the other temps have, or that he doesn't get eaten by a Pomeranian, or mutilated by the chainsaw wielding hooker from downstairs.

Because now he comes to think of it, working there might be dangerous – and crazy, because yep, it is definitely that – but damn if it doesn't also make him _excited_ to be dealing with something different.

_He's a bit of a weird one_.

Bring it on.

* * *

**Okay, so next week we start to get into the mystery element of the story. Expect some intrigue and let the guessing begin. I'll see you there!**


	3. Three

**Chapter three already? Where does the time go? Okay, so in this one we get our first taste of mystery and we also meet one of the many original characters who is going to pop up in this story (since I'm running out of wrestlers to use in between my Shield Cops AUs and my Little Brother stories etc!) **

**Skovko, Haha *shudder* no one will be naming spiders in this story. It's bad enough that I even had to type the word *shudders again* but yeah, Dean probably would. Also, in terms of pets, you might like chapter four!**

**ViolentHugger03, Aww, thank you, I'm glad you liked it. I really wanted Roman to have a nice family life in this one, plus I guess I needed to explain why our big Samoan beefcake would be temping as a secretary...oops, sorry Roman, **_**officer manager**_**!**

**HannonsPen, Got to mix up the sweetness and the mystery and the bromance and the crazy in this story. Keep you all guessing about what's coming next!**

**xXBalorBabeXx, I'm super glad you liked them! It's about time I wrote Roman's wife being his actual wife. She's not in it a lot, but when she is I like to think she's pretty cool!**

**Cheryl24, The mystery begins in this chapter, so put your Sherlock Holmes style deerstalker on and start guessing for this one!**

**Wolfgirl2013, Many thanks pal!**

**SkittlezLvr79, I know, I wanted Roman to have a proper backstory, but he's definitely been through the wringer in this one already (although on the plus side I'm thinking that revisiting his footballing past some way could make a good sequel?!)**

**Mandy, I know, breaks my heart they're on different promotions and they're not going to teaming together anymore, but hey, that's what fanfiction is for I guess and this story is going to be the team up to end all team ups!**

**Minnie1015, I know! How many stories have I written without having Roman's wife involved (except for the Police AU where they're divorced I guess) she was definitely overdue a proper appearance! Plus I mean, who doesn't love a bit of Daddy Roman?!**

**XwweoyoteX, Sorry about the tea choking thing (you should never drink and read...very dangerous stuff, lol!) but I couldn't resist making Seth something all pretty. Well, angry and pretty! I regret nothing!**

**MusketeerAdventure, Thank you so much for your reviews. I'm super happy you're enjoying it so far. Dean gets this next chapter all to himself (well, himself and Seth!) but his own story is going to unravel a bit more slowly over the chapters as Roman gets to know him. **

**Not-that-kinda-gurl, Haha, well, we haven't met all of Dean's 'team' yet (a couple more introductions in chapter Four still to come) so it depends on whether he can take them all with him when he moves (which is my way of not giving anything away at this point!)**

**Phoenix lord of rebirth, Well, it won't take long until both Roman and Dean are both in over their heads a bit (or a lot!) but he definitely likes the excitement for now. Let part of the mystery begin in 3, 2, 1…**

**Rebel8954, Maybe, maybe not...but for the moment it's still totally spider infested (ick) and not even painted with Roman's wife's new colour scheme, so you might have to wait a bit longer on that one! But for now, Dean definitely has other things on his mind…**

**I-Am-WarKitten, Roman fluff is always a good time and I can never resist setting the scene a bit first, but we're going to start getting into the nuts and bolts of the story from here on out (with some Roman/Dean bonding thrown in too of course!)**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**THREE**

The woman on the phone had said _specifically_ to meet him in Ault Park on the steps of the pavilion at ten at night.

Although given that it's basically the middle of November and gets dark at three pm, the time seems kind of extreme. Not to mention that Dean is nearly freezing his nuts off and Seth, who is tucked in his coat, _won't_ sit still.

"Dude," he huffs, "Like, the fuck are you doin'? Buildin' a freakin' _nest_ in there? Come on. M' tryin' to look cool."

In response Seth growls and then bites the jacket zipper, which makes Dean snort fondly and scritch his head,

"Ya freakin jerk."

Because it's so late and so dark and so bitter, there isn't a whole lot of people around. Except for some lanky looking kids on their skateboards and a homeless guy trying to bed down for the night. The streetlamps are on up on top of the pavilion, but since the light they're throwing out is kind of muted at best, Dean is struggling to pick out his client and is starting to feel uneasy about the whole thing, since he's pretty sure most black and white murder movies start out the same way.

"Dean Ambrose?"

"_Fuck_," he barks, startling the baggily dressed kids on their skateboards and the poor homeless guy and not to mention freaking _Seth_, who growls unhappily about being jolted, or at the woman stood beside them who has stepped out of the gloom, like some sort of god damn spirit or something.

She steps back as Dean sighs,

"Fuck, yeah sorry, that's me. It's just – I mean like, freakin' _warn_ a guy will ya? Otherwise you coulda been down there givin' me CPR."

He points at the floor and the woman looks down at it and then blinks back at him. Or at least, he _thinks_ she does, since she's done up like Elizabeth freaking Taylor or something, with a loose white head scarf draped around her hair and neck and with a pair of sunglasses that nearly cover her whole face up, although Dean can still see that the woman is middle aged. Somewhere in her mid to late forties he guesses and kind of _delicate_ looking with dark red colored lips, which suddenly round into a startled sort of _o_ shape as Seth pops his bug eyed little head out of the coat and then sneezes messily and way too freaking loudly,

"Oh isn't he _adorable_. Can I hold him?"

Dean blinks,

"Uh – ,"

Reaching her arms out before he can stop her, or prevent her from being mauled to death by his tiny teeth, the woman plucks Seth from his arms like a baby and then actually _rocks_ him over onto his back, which he figures the little hellhound will go totally batshit over. But instead he sticks his tongue out and does – well, nothing much. Except for making heart eyes at the woman, because of _course_ he's a freaking ladies man.

"Oh my," the woman smiles, "He's an absolute darling."

"Yeah," Dean drawls back, "He's _somethin'_ alright."

Sensing his tone the woman clears her throat suddenly and then hands Seth back over with what looks like a blush and a quick furtive glance like she's looking for something.

Or maybe some_one_.

The smile is gone,

"Mr Ambrose," she starts, newly devoid of all emotion, "Thank you for agreeing to meet me tonight."

Dean shrugs and then scratches his head,

"So, about that, is there some kinda reason we had to do this out here? Because okay, so my place ain't exactly a _palace_, but it's warmer than this, _an_' I got a sofa an' things."

Plus a brand new secretary. Oops, _office manager_ who is built like some sort of Pacific Islands god and who is going to make a new system for his filing, which is already _way_ more than all the other temps had done. And plus it's kind of nice to have a guy in the office. Besides himself obviously. Oh and not forgetting Seth. Not that he knows why a guy the size of Roman who wears freakin' _waistcoats_ has ended up as a temp. He makes a mental note to ask him tomorrow – provided he shows up – then watches the woman shake her head,

"No, it had to be here," she says nervously, doing the whole eyes-darting-around bit again.

Dean lowers his voice,

"Are you in trouble or somethin'? Because I got numbers for like, _shelters _an' places like that."

Not that she looks like the type of girl that usually needs them, given that she is wearing a real mink coat and has a diamond the size of Plymouth Rock on her ring finger, which means that she can afford to get a fancy hotel, or possibly head off to her place in the Hamptons to get away from whoever.

A crappy husband would be his guess.

"No," the woman says, almost smiling a little as if she thinks he's gone and said something cute, "No, it's nothing like that. I promise."

Bullshit. Dean snorts,

"So then what's the deal here? Rich ass husband bangin' the nanny? Or his secretary maybe? Uh, _office manager_ I mean?"

Her pale eyes widen,

"N-no."

Oh _total_ bullshit.

Dean thrusts Seth further down into his coat and then zips it right up against the bitter north easterly which is billowing in across the night blackened park and which is even sending the skater kids scarpering before they end up with pneumonia. Or even worse –

Messed up hair.

"Look," Dean huffs, because he's starting to get restless and mildly frostbitten, "It's not a big deal. I mean catchin' out cheaters is like ninety percent of my workload, so if you're worried that this is my first gig or somethin', then I got some good news for ya here, because it ain't."

"My _husband_," the woman sort of stumbles on the last word, like she isn't used to saying it, "Isn't the reason why I'm here."

"Okay," Dean nods, "So then what _is_ the reason why – _son of a bitch_,"

He hisses out of the blue as Seth digs a bony Pompom elbow into his liver and possibly lacerates it. Which would be _just_ his freaking luck. Years of drink and his juice box gets totalled by a fidgety little rat dog with no sense of personal space.

"I need you to be outside this address tomorrow. At six o' clock precisely."

She hands across a folded note, which has a street name and house number scribbled across it but very little else.

He frowns uncertainly at it,

"Why? Because if I get there an' freakin' _bigfoot _jumps out at me, m' not gonna be real happy, ya know?"

The woman's immaculate brows narrow inwards,

"No bigfoot. Only something that needs to be done."

Reaching down into a leather purse – designer – she pulls out a wallet, nearly overflowing with cash and then starts to count out a roll of crisp twenties with a shake that don't seem just due to the cold. Every damn bell in his head screams danger, but holy crap, he needs the money.

"I can pay you up front. A hundred and fifty for one nights' surveillance at that address there," she holds the bills up and Dean feels his eyes almost turn into dollar signs, like a character from out of a nineteen sixties cartoon.

_Cha-ching_.

"Fine," he grunts taking the wodge of cash from her and then briskly thumbing through it to make sure it's all there. Once he's certain he goes to put it in his jacket, but then remembers that Seth is in there with his tiny paper shredding teeth and so rolls it up and tucks it into his jeans pocket, just to be safe, "I'll be there six o clock. But what the fuck am I even meant to be lookin' for?"

"You'll know the woman smiles weakly, "You'll know."

The homeless man coughs suddenly from somewhere below them as he tries to make himself comfy on his bench and the noise acts like some sort of clock bell or something, since the woman takes a step back and then grabs at her scarf, which is fast in danger of being blown off completely in the bitter evening wind and revealing her hair.

"It's been a pleasure doing business with you Mr Ambrose," she offers and yep, okay, the woman's totally nuts. She's probably escaped from an asylum or something and so Dean wonders briefly if he even needs to_ do_ the job, since he doubts she'll remember having met him in an _hour_, let alone by six o' clock sharp tomorrow night.

Still a deal's a deal though.

He steeples his fingers and then mini bows at her,

"Uh yeah, this was fun. We should totally do it again sometime maybe."

The woman smiles sadly at him,

"No, I don't think we will."

Seth has poked his head back out of the jacket and so she reaches out and tousles his staticked up hair before turning and melting back into the darkness until all he can see is the brilliant white scarf, although even _that_ fades into a pinprick and then into nothing, leaving him bewildered and totally alone.

Well, okay, alone except for Seth that is and the hobo who is already snoring from inside his sleeping bag, like Dean should be doing on the couch in his office, which fine, maybe isn't the _best_ place in the world, but beats a bench right out in the open. Knowing it he pulls out one of the twenty dollar bills out and then tucks it into the hobo's sleeping bag as he passes by, so that at least the guy can wake up in the morning and get himself a hot meal and a cup of coffee to go.

Dean too for that matter, all thanks to his new client and her weird ass request.

He looks down at the folded note and in particular at the address that scribbled across it, _402 Maple Street_, followed by _six o' clock_, the _six_ part of which has been circled almost wildly. Because, okay, he freaking gets it. She needs him there by six o' clock. The address itself however isn't one he's familiar with and since he knows near enough all the _bad_ parts of town, he figures it has to be somewhere more fancy.

Provided it's not a trap.

He lets out a groan,

"Fuck," then pushes Seth back into the folds of his jacket and turns and trudges off into the inky black night.

* * *

**Next week, we have Roman's first day on the job and we meet another two members of the Private Investigating team. Sort of ;-)**


	4. Four

**Here we are then folks. Time to meet a few new 'characters'. Have I mentioned I like this chapter? Okay, I like this chapter. Hope you do too!**

**Skovko, Haha, you might be ahead of me! Next chapter you'll get to see what happens with the creepy lady, but for now, please have some Dean and Roman bonding time with my compliments.**

**SkittlezLvr79, The mystery lady is definitely going to throw up some questions. Okay, make that a lot of questions. Chapter five in particular is going to be huge!Would love to write a sequel, I had so much fun with this AU and there's totally more to explore, so who knows?!**

**Rebel8954, Well, if you liked Seth, I hope you like the other character you're going to meet in this chapter too. Although Seth is definitely the secret star player in this story. Who knew he suited being a dog so well?!**

**Wolfgirl2013, Many thanks!**

**xXBalorBabeXx, Seth wants to do his own thing, when he wants its and damn everyone else! He's definitely quite a character in this story!**

**XwwecoyoteX, Okay, I think you should be okay to drink tea during this chapter, but if you do find something funny, then I take no responsibility for subsequent tea scaldings/chokings! As for the woman? You'll find out more about the situation next week (because I'm cruel!)**

**Not-that-kinda-gurl, Hope this chapter was worth the wait. Also hope you like the rest of the 'gang' that makes up the rest Dean's PI agency (you'll notice 'gang' is in inverted commas!)**

**Zanderlover, Hello and welcome! Haha, no Mitch the plant (damn, I didn't think of him) but you're not far off! No love interest for Dean either in this one. I do write some Dean romance stories, but for the most part I'm all about the Roman/Dean (and sometimes Seth) best friend bromance!**

**HannonsPen, Hope you've got your popcorn all ready (sweet, not salted of course!) More Seth the dog is coming your way, plus someone else you might like, I hope!**

**Wrestlingfanforever, Your wish is my command!**

**Minnie1015, I'm taking it as a good thing that you want to read the installments closer together! Nothing better than a good suspense story! As for Dean and Roman? More getting-to-know-you-getting-to-know-all-about-you stuff here. I LOVE writing them becoming friends!**

**Mandy, She was definitely sketchy! Still, sketchy means mystery and mystery is always good. What's a story without a little bit of that?! Hope everything is okay, I'm sorry Denver didn't go well. You just keep doing you and keep your head up.**

**Phoenix lord of rebirth, Thank you! Yep, the lady is definitely hiding something, but you'll have to wait until next week to see where that goes (because you know me and making you wait!) Still at least there's a lots of Dean and Roman (and Seth and others) in this chapter!**

**Enjoy... **

* * *

**FOUR**

When Roman steps back into the brownstone the next morning, he is greeted by the same scenes of devastation as before, since paperwork is still scattered over each surface and even better, at some point has been blown onto the floor, given that Ambrose has opened a window and let the fall wind and a god damn _pigeon_ inside.

Roman blinks,

"Ambrose?"

Although he knows he's not in there, since he'd knocked for five minutes before letting himself in.

"_If the door's locked it means 'm out_," the scruffy private eye had offered him, during what had evidently been his orientation the day before, "_But I keep a spare key up on top of the door frame, which, I mean like, you can totally use, since you work here too now an' everythin', y' know dude?"_

Which is therefore precisely what Roman had done. Hence being stood in the middle of the office with the papers and the pigeon, which he frowns at,

"Hey, shoo."

Instead it flutters up on top of the inner door frame then tilts his feathered head and chirps offendedly at him.

"_Coo_."

"Fine," Roman grumbles, crossing the office and passing the rolled up sleeping bag on the couch, which kind of breaks his big home-owning heart just a little bit, "But if you doodie on something, then god help you brother. Because you and me will be having some words."

Stepping across a flashlight and yet _more_ displaced papers, Roman lets himself in through the inner office door, which leads to the desks – two of them, one in each corner – and the cupboard where Dean keeps his hotplate and food.

"Ambrose?" he calls stepping over the threshold and then stopping himself dead.

There is a dog sat inside. Not Seth though, because _this_ hound is not as _poofy_ as Seth is. _Or_ as small frankly, since the creature is huge. Like some hybrid horse. Or okay, a bull mastiff, but with pale amber eyes that glower up at him.

"What the he – ,"

As the dog makes a break for the door, Roman slams it and then winces at the thud as it bangs into the other side, which makes the pigeon take off in a panic and sends paperwork flying everywhere.

"Mornin' Reigns," Ambrose chirps, breezing into the main office behind him with Seth trotting smugly along at his heels. He's holding two styrofoam cups from Dunkin' Donuts and the remnants of a burrito that he's still munching on, in spite of the fact that there's a _pigeon_ in his workplace and a howling gale billowing in from outside. He holds out a cup, "Here, bought you some coffee. Nothin' like, _fancy_ though because I didn't know what you liked. But I mean, uh, it's hot, an' wet or whatever."

"Nothin' fancy sounds perfect," Roman grins in reply, since no one he has worked for since taking up temping has _ever_ bought him a coffee like a regular human being. The last place he had been at hadn't even had a break room. Or it had, but it had only been for _permanent_ staff and so therefore the fact that his new employer has thought about him is nearly enough to bring the big man to tears. Or at least make him forget about the pigeon for a second.

Right up until it dive bombs him.

Roman ducks,

"Uh, I _think_ you might have a bird situation," he grunts as the thing flutters past his damn head and then lands super proudly on the back of the sofa.

Dean shrugs,

"Oh yeah, he shows up from time to time. Found him as a chick on the sidewalk about a year ago, so now I guess he kinda thinks I'm his mom or some crap."

Crossing the now bitterly cold outer office towards the hastily banged shut _inner_ office door, the copper blonde tears off a bit of burrito and then leaves it on the sofa for the cooing feathered rat, before reaching the lair of the slobbering horse dog just as Roman puts a hand out in warning.

"Babe, _wait_ – ,"

It's too late. The bull mastiff comes barrelling out at them like a beige colored wrecking ball studded with teeth, although instead of devouring the detective like a chew toy, it launches up at him at wags its enormous tail.

"Alright, alright," Dean huffs at it fondly, reaching down into his pocket and pulling out another very greasy looking bag. Inside is yet _another_ beef filled burrito, which the mighty mastiff swallows in nearly one bite, before checking the floor for any leftover rice bits.

Dean grins proudly,

"He's pretty cool right? Found him last night. No collar or anythin', so I brought him up here to keep him outta the cold. M' thinkin' of callin' him Brock or like, _Tiny_."

"Brock," Roman offers flatly, watching the dog, since it seems to suit the damn thing better and since _Killer_ hadn't been part of the choice. Dean blinks and then seems to understand the problem,

"Oh uh, I probably shoulda said I like dogs. Is it cool with you if we keep 'em or whatever? Because I mean if you got allergies then – ,"

He scratches his head and Roman blinks,

"Wait, are you saying that you would actually give your dogs' up?"

Dean shrugs,

"Well, I mean like, I don't _want_ to or anythin'," crossing back past the sofa he scritches Seth's hair up and the tiny little puffball tries to bite off his hand. Because, on second thoughts maybe _Seth _should be _Killer_, "But I mean, we're like, partners now dude, so you know."

He shrugs again and then peels off the leather jacket he seems to live in and hangs it up on the back of the office door.

Roman frowns,

"Partners?"

"Yeah, I mean, sure dude. Because 'm not really one of those _boss man_ types. An' besides, I do the snoopin' an' the surveillance or whatever, an' you keep the bills straight. That makes us a team. So if your lungs are gonna like, freakin' seize up or somethin', or if you hate dogs then – ,"

"They're fine," Roman lies. Or not _lies _exactly since he doesn't remotely hate them. It's just that he's never really _worked_ with them before. Brock comes up and he rubs the beast's forehead and comes back with all of his fingers, which is probably a good sign, "Just need to remember not to tell my kid about this, or she'll want _me_ to start bringing home lost pets."

Dean looks up with interest,

"You got a daughter? Because I noticed you were hitched," he gestures to the ring, "Cool. How old is she?"

"Five going on damn near fifty," Roman grunts at him, fighting down a smile as he shrugs off his own coat and then takes a sip of coffee, _nothin' fancy_ as promised, which beats off the winter chill and slaps him straight in the face with a dose of simple flat white caffeine and a tiny hint of sugar, "God damn. I needed that."

Ambrose has moved into the innermost office and so Roman follows him then stands in the door, waiting for Dean to sit down at his own desk, which Roman guesses is the messier looking one.

It is.

Brock and Seth both pad in behind them, although luckily the pigeon stays put where it is, perched on the back of the sofa like a budgie, or parakeet, or more accurately a feathered monkey with wings. Dean swings his legs up over the tall mounds of paperwork,

"So Reigns, how long have you been in this type of gig? Bein' a," he pauses for a second, "_Office manager_."

"About a year now," Roman shrugs back, sliding himself into the desk chair opposite and then grunting as Seth climbs up onto his lap, where he spins in an elaborate sequence of circles before settling down.

Damn.

"What did you do before that?"

"Football," he frowns, peering down at the powder ball. Who, okay, _does_ look pretty darn cute, "I played defensive tackle for the Bengals. Well, right up until I tore my ACL. _Twice_. After that I just couldn't make it back again."

Dean blinks at him,

"So, what? They like, freakin' _abandoned_ you?" he seems completely outraged on Roman's behalf. Kind of like Roman's own beloved wife had been and _still _is quite frankly.

He waves a loose hand around,

"Look, I mean, I get it. It's business. They don't want people who ain't able to play and I can't play now, so it is what it is man."

"Still must suck though," Dean points out, looking around at the badly cluttered office and then scratching his neck guiltily, "Goin' from that to, like _this."_

Roman smiles and then holds up his coffee before pointing at Seth,

"Nah, turns out it's not all bad and besides, I got a wife and a kid to take care of, so I'll take what I can get and be damn grateful for it. You?"

Dean looks up with a shrug,

"Don't watch football."

Roman shakes his head,

"No. How did _you_ get into _this_. Being a real life private detective and having your own business. Must be pretty cool?"

"Uh, yeah. I mean, I guess so," Dean shrugs back at him, doing the whole awkward scratching-his-head thing again, which only seems to happen when he's embarrassed, or possibly stressed, "But it's not as excitin' as on TV. I mean, mostly I just hang around outside hotel rooms looking for guys who are cheatin' on their wives, or like, tryin' 'a get dirt for shady lawyers an' that shit. It's never freakin' murders or helpin' the police out or shootouts or anythin' wild like that. Although I do _kinda_ got this one job later this evenin'. I gotta go to an address an' like, _watch_ for somethin'."

"Something like what?"

"Dunno," Dean shrugs back, "The lady that hired me last night wouldn't tell me. She just said it was something that needed to be done, an' that I would totally know what it was when I saw it."

He air quotes the last part and the bigger man frowns,

"Do you think it's a trap?"

Ambrose smirks,

"Why? Worried about me?"

"Sure," Roman nods at him, "I mean, you're the boss, so if you go and get yourself killed on some stakeout, then _I_ have to go back to the agency for another job and I mean, I did mention my wife and my kid right?"

He's grinning because he's kidding, but Dean merely shrugs,

"Well, if you're worried you could always come with me."

"What?" Roman blinks, his wife's voice ringing in his ears.

"_So you're not going to ask to go with him on stakeouts, or whatever it is he does?" _

Back in the real world Dean shrugs again,

"Yeah, be like, my wingman or whatever, an' besides, it might be nice to have some company for once. I mean, unless you have to get back home to your family. Which is totally fine too."

He's doing the scratching thing again, which Roman might end up becoming weirdly kind of _fond_ of. Provided that it isn't _actually_ fleas. He sucks in a breath. His wife is going to kill him. But it's a brand new job, so how _can_ he say no? Plus he'd meant what he said about the work there. So it pays to make sure that his new boss is safe. Or at least it pays to prove to his wife it's not dangerous.

He nods his head casually,

"Okay, I'm in."

"Really?" the scruffy private eye all but lights up, before realizing he probably sounds way too keen, at which point he clears his throat, "Okay, cool man."

"And call me uce by the way. It means brother in Samoan."

"Uce," Dean rolls the word around on his tongue and then nods his head once he's mastered the _ooh_ part, "Can do dude. Oh, uh, I mean, can do _uce_. Although I do kinda like, got another question for ya."

"Shoot," Roman smiles, leaning back behind his desk and taking another long sip of his coffee as Seth starts to dream twitch.

"Did you call me _babe_?"

* * *

**Okay, so Brock is now officially part of the squad (and Carl the pigeon...okay, this story might mostly be about animals!) Next week, we get to find out a bit more about what's going on with the mystery woman. Although it might throw up more questions than it answers...**


	5. Five

**Okay, so I'm going to start out this chapter with a warning, as there is a bit of a dark twist in the second half of this (trying not to give too much away) so if you think that might upset you then you may want to avoid. Otherwise, let's do this thing.**

**xXBalorBabeXx, Yeah, I'm not a big Brock Lesnar fan either. But hopefully 'Dog Lesnar' is a character you'll like!**

**SkittlezLvr79, Haha, yep, this case is definitely going to be a little different from the norm, starting right now! Also, I totally couldn't resist Dean collecting animals. I figure that since he's kind of a stray in this story too, he would want to help others in need (plus I love wrestlers as dogs!)**

**Skovko, Well, I think Roman will have to Reign in (see what I did there?) Dean's compulsion to collect animals. Plus, after this chapter they're going to be a bit too busy for catching strays!**

**Wolfgirl2013, Many thanks as always! Glad you're enjoying it!**

**Yippi-kay yay motherfucker, Yay! Welcome back! I love Roman calling Dean babe too. Plus it's a super useful writing tool for showing them bonding (so many thanks to the real life Dean and Roman for that one!) also, this story is going to be bromance central, so stay tuned!**

**Cheryl24, I am ALL about wrestlers badly disguised as dogs, so you are very welcome! I also make no apologies to the real life Seth. He IS a feisty toy breed and I'm not changing my mind!**

**Mandy, I'm keeping everything crossed for you lovely! Hopefully a bit of drama in this chapter will take your mind off work for a bit. You know I'll always have Dean/Roman bromance for you!**

**XwwecoyoteX, Ooh, well this possibly becoming a favourite story so soon is good enough for me! Dean and animals are my favourite things too (also chocolate and cake!) Loads of drama coming up in this story and more Roman and Dean bonding as well, can't wait to share it with you all!**

**HannonsPen, One stakeout coming right up...plus with added Brock and Seth goodness, so you can't say I don't give the people what they want!**

**Minnie1015, Just call me the bromance queen with a capital 'B'. Well, I have to make up for it now we don't get it in real life (although I'm hoping for a candid on an Instagram or a Twitter somewhere, come on guys, give a girl what she wants to see!) so in the meantime allow me to vividly invent it!**

**Not-that-kinda-gurl, I aim to please! Although the cuteness factor might hit a bump with this chapter. Still, I hope the drama makes up for that!**

**Phoenix lord of rebirth, Aww, thanks. I do love mixing serious and funny. It's not good to be serious too much of the time after all! Plus I LOVE writing these two getting to know each other, so there's a little bit more of that here too!**

**Okay then, remember the warning...**

* * *

**FIVE**

In the end Roman decides to leave his wife a voice message, which starts with a badly hidden sigh of relief about the fact that he doesn't have to tell her in person the _actual_ reason that he's going to be late. Although not that he does it on the voicemail either, which Ambrose picks up on.

"Is she gonna be all pissed?"

"Who?" Roman blinks, pushing Brock's head away from him since the big bull mastiff in leant in over the seats, panting foul doggie smelling breath all over him and slinging drool around like he's handing it out for free. Seth is sat on the dashboard in front of him growling at every single thing that goes by and so really, in between Dean and the binoculars and not to mention his own pretty hefty Samoan bulk, the clapped out station wagon is nearly full to capacity. Although luckily the damn hand raised pigeon isn't in there. Which is one small mercy.

"Your wife," Dean shrugs back, clearly trying super hard to sound casual, "I kinda noticed you said that you were gonna be workin' late, but you didn't like, say you were out on a stakeout. So is she like, gonna be pissed?"

Roman blinks at him,

"Wow. You're good babe."

"Private detective," Dean grins in response, looking ridiculously proud for a second. Kind his kid had done the first time she'd tied her laces, or the first time she had ridden her big girls' bike, "Why do you think I got into this gig uce?"

At some point in the long intervening eight hours since Ambrose had asked about the whole _babe_ thing, it had somehow already become the agreed upon nickname. Even though explaining _why_ he'd said it had been awkward.

"Uh," Roman had started, scratching his _own_ neck, like the movement had been catching, "It's just something I call my friends. Not sure why, but I grew up watching cop show, so that could be it."

"I kinda like it," Dean had shrugged, looking briefly kind of _thoughtful_. So babe it was then.

"Nah," Roman shrugs, grunting as Brock turns around on the back seat and hits him around the head with the base of his tail, "She just thinks I miss the buzz of playing football and she's worried I'm gonna use this detective stuff as a rush. Plus I'm pretty sure she thinks this is _Magnum PI_ or something, with shootouts and murderers. Which, clearly it's not."

Roman gestures through the windshield in front of them to a house on the street that they are facing head on. Or 402 Maple Street to be more specific and the scene of Ambrose's unexplained latest job. It's a nice house. Three storied with garage parking underneath it and a big bay window on the first floor above. The level above that is what Roman guesses is the master, since it has doors onto a balcony with a terrace above, which he can tell since the neighbors have sun umbrellas set out there. Although the house they're looking at seems more abandoned and unloved.

It's six o' five. Which means that something_ should_ be happening. But instead there is well —

_Nothing._

"My old man I guess," Dean says beside him from pretty much out of nowhere as he peers through a pair of thick binoculars.

"Huh?"

"You asked me why I got into detectin'," Dean offers, throwing in a casual shrug, in spite of the fact that Roman had asked him _that_ question seven or maybe eight hours before, which means he's either been working on his answer or has suddenly just remembered it. But most likely the first, "My old man was pretty like, _bad _or whatever. Never around an' always in trouble when he was. So I figured I had to be different than he was, an' what better way to be different from a convict than bein' a cop?"

He's waving a hand like it's something and nothing, even though Roman can tell it's clearly not.

"You tried out to be a cop?"

Dean throws a handful of nuts up then catches them. Or, well, he catches _one_ of them at least, before wiggling the packet brazil out in his direction while scrabbling for the lost one.

Roman snorts,

"Nah babe, I'm good."

"So yeah," Dean continues, "I tried to sign up for 'em, but turns out they didn't like, _want_ me or whatever because I got caught spray paintin' a buildin' this one time. Plus I had kinda a pretty bad credit record, _an'_ a couple of evictions or whatever. You know how it is."

He shrugs at that part, seemingly oblivious that the man sat beside him is from a good neighborhood and has no idea how it is to be evicted. Although if nothing else Roman can at least hazard a guess. Provided he doesn't end up being evicted from his _current_ damn house if they can't pay the bills.

"So I figured, _what the hell_?" Dean throws another nut up, having clearly learnt his lesson from the handful before, "I just decided I'd do it myself or whatever. Solve crimes or right wrongs or_ help_ people you know? Not that I do. It's mostly kinda real _seedy_ stuff. But at least I get to be my own boss now."

"And collect dogs," Roman adds with a chuckle, hoping to lighten the mood.

It works.

"Fuck yeah," Dean beams, rubbing Seth's silken hair backwards, which immediately statics up like he's been hit with a thousand volts. Except instead of taking a lump out of him like usual — or _trying_ to at any rate since he hasn't caught him yet — Seth stands up and then growls at the windshield like something else has riled him.

Dean blinks,

"What is it boy?"

"Babe," Roman points, "Look."

A light has come on in the house they are watching. Or the house they are _meant _to be watching at least, but sort of haven't been, what with the talk of absent parents and failed police careers and that kind of thing. Dean pushes up again suddenly,

"It's about time,"

He lifts the binoculars up to his eyes again, but even Roman can see the female silhouette inside, which is stood beside the balcony doors in the master behind a billowing net drape.

"That's her," Dean huffs, "I mean, without like, the headscarf an' the shades or whatever. But she's the right age an' the right shape, an' her face looks the same."

Roman frowns,

"So she hired you to watch her stand round in her bedroom?"

"Or whatever she's about to freakin' try an' do in there," Dean grunts back, taking a couple of snapshots on a camera as she steps onto the balcony to have a quick smoke. She is dressed in a long white satin looking bathrobe, which billows in the wind and is probably freezing her half to death. Not that she seems too bothered about it.

"What's she doing?" Roman blinks,

"No freakin' clue. But _my_ guess is she's about to do somethin' frisky with a senator, an' she wants the freakin' pictures so she can go to the press."

She flicks the finished cigarette off over the balcony then turns around and heads back into the room. Seth growls again and Roman feels his neck prickle, although Brock has pushed through and is panting on it again.

_Damn_.

Dean is drumming his fingers on the dashboard but in a wild sort of pattern that doesn't seem like a song and he keeps on jerking his head to his shoulder.

"Come on, freakin' _do _it already."

Roman doesn't ask what. He doesn't get the chance to since the light in the window suddenly flicks up like someone has knocked over a lamp, which throws up a sudden shadow right the way across the bedroom. A long thin shadow that seems to be _swaying_ back and forth and which takes him a second to even figure out clearly.

Although once he _has_ he wishes that he hadn't. Because the shape is a body.

A _hanging_ body.

Dean bursts out of the car at once,

"_Shit_."

Seth tries to barrel behind him still growling, but bangs into the door as Dean slams it shut and then streaks off over the street like a wild thing, as Roman tries to fight off his damn seatbelt.

"Ambrose, wait — ,"

Because he's Samoan and over two hundred and fifty though, running has never been the strongest of Roman's suits, hence the reason he played defensive in football. Because _defence_ Roman Reigns can do all damn day long.

Half falling out of the car like an idiot, he slams the door in both Brock _and_ Seth's face, then follows the lanky looking figure of Ambrose which has cleared the street corner and has burst up the steps.

"_Dean_."

By the time Roman gets there, having a heart attack, or possibly some kind of exercise induced stroke, Ambrose is banging on the door with the binoculars and yelling like crazy through the mail slot.

"Hey, open up."

"I'll call the police babe," Roman grunts, sucking deep breaths in,

"There's no freakin' time," Dean slams his shoulder against the door, which doesn't move much and pretty obviously hurts him since he grunts and then puts a foot through it instead. _That_ works, or at least it breaks enough of the glazing that he can reach in clumsily and unlatch the lock, "Reigns, come on."

Jamming his cell between his ear and his shoulder, Roman steps over the bits of the broken glass and then follows as Ambrose practically _launches _up the staircase, passing the bay fronted room as he goes and carrying on up into the master, where he disappears from view as the call on the cell phone connects.

"_Nine-one-one, what is your emergency_?"

"We need an ambulance 402 Maple Street."

"_Is it for yourself_?" the call handler asks calmly, which is probably a reasonable enough first assumption to make, given how god damn heavily he's breathing as he pounds like an overgrown bear up the stairs.

"No, we got a woman who's just tried to commit suicide."

"_Okay_," the woman on the other end offers back, "_Can you tell me if the patient is conscious and breathing?" _

"Uh," he falters before rounding the bend and finally blundering through into the master bedroom where Dean is trying to lift up the woman they had seen on the balcony just minutes before, who is dangling from a noose she has tied around the light fitting.

Her eyes are shut and her face looks grey.

"Oh damn."

"Cut her down Reigns, cut her down," Dean is screaming at him, trying to push her body up to give her some air. Dropping his phone Roman darts onto the king size and then reaches across to loosen the knot, which is kind of hard to do with his hands shaking wildly and with his heart in his throat.

"_Sir? Sir are you still there_?"

"Got it," Roman shouts, ignoring the distant call handler as he manages to pull loose the final thread of the knot. The body folds forward and hangs over Dean's shoulder, which can't be a good sign.

"_Sir? Hello, sir_?"

Jumping off the bed Roman helps to take the dead weight – even though _dead_ isn't the best word to use – then scrambles for his cell as Dean drops down beside him and checks for a pulse.

"She's not breathin'. Fuck. _Fuck_."

"_Sir_?"

"Okay I'm back. No, patient's not breathing," Roman pants heavily into the phone, swiping a hand across his suddenly moist forehead but not able to tear his eyes away from the woman, who looks so kind of peaceful and beautiful and _at rest_.

"_An ambulance has already been dispatched to your location, but in the meantime I'm going to need you to perform CPR_."

Ambrose already is, although they both know it won't help her.

They're too late for that.

Dean's mystery client is dead.

* * *

**So begins the drama. I hope you have questions, because Dean and Roman definitely do!**

**See you next week!**


	6. Six

**New character in this one folks, hope you like it!**

**xXBalorBabeXx, Yep, things got very real in that last chapter. Glad I surprised you!**

**Skovko, I will happily take the title of bad girl for this one! Can't have a good mystery story without a little mystery (and some cliffhangers) can we now?!**

**Guest, Glad you liked it!**

**Mandy, Oh my goodness. I don't know what to say. I'm so sorry you had a bad week. But sometimes things are not meant to be. There are so many opportunities out there, you just need to keep pushing on until you find the one that is perfect for you. That one obviously wasn't **_**quite**_ **right. You'll get there *Big hugs***

**ViolentHugger03, Just call me the Queen of Confusion! But I promise, you will get answers at some point (and possibly more questions, but answers eventually!)**

**Cheryl24, Well, I mean, it sure looks that way at the moment!**

**SkittlezLvr79, Ooh, yay! I'm so glad I caught you out there! I love when a twist is an actual twist and no one guesses it before I get there. Hope you're ready for a story full of confusion and (hopefully) more twists to come!**

**Minnie1015, Ominous music is the one thing I can't provide. You'll just have to add that part yourself! More Dean and Roman goodness to come (and some protective Roman in this one. Just a hint, but we are near the beginning, so plenty more time!)**

**Phoenix lord of rebirth, Aww, thank you! Well, you asked about the police, so allow me to present them to you in all their glory in this chapter! **

**Not-that-kinda-gurl, Haha! Luckily Roman's wife is a pretty cool character (I hope) although he should definitely know better than to lie to his wife!**

**XwwecoyoteX, As if I could forget the pigeon (he gets a name in this one and everything) and don't worry, the animals are going to be there every step of the way, helping (sort of, some more than others) to solve the mystery!**

**HannonsPen, Sorry to make you wait, but here it is, the next chapter! Totally glad I shocked you though (#writergoals) Guess you'll just have to keep tuning in to find out all the answers to you questions!**

**Back to the boys then...**

* * *

**SIX**

The detective who turns up to oversee the investigation is like something from out of a nineteen eighties cop film, since not only is he a very grey headed old timer, but he is _also_ chewing on an unlit cigar and surveying the scene like he is studying a painting that for the life of him he can't quite seem to figure out,

"So, now let me get this straight," he says for a third time taking the well chewed cigar from his mouth, "This broad hires you, but _refuses_ to give you any details _other_ than telling you to be here at six o' clock and you don't think to try and get a name out of her _or_ ask why?"

Roman frowns,

"He did ask. He already told you, she wouldn't tell him what the job was."

"And the name part?" the cop asks lifting a brow, which is one of those ones that has been left to grow like bindweed, to the point that it looks like it has a life of its own.

"She paid up front. I didn't _need_ a name for her and some folks don't like givin' 'em in my line of work."

Dean is sitting on the edge of the king size, staring obliquely down at his hands, which Roman can't help but notice are mildly shaking, along with his knee which is bouncing up and down, like maybe he's testing a rickety floorboard. Except that he isn't. He looks damn near _crushed_. The body has been taken away by the med techs, who had pronounced her dead about five seconds after turning up, based on the tinge of her lips and her responses, but he can still sort of _see_ her and he knows Dean can too as the detective chomps back on his cigar and then chuckles,

"Your _line of work_."

"Hey," Roman looks up, feeling a flash of protective rage flutter over him, "Get off his damn back, this isn't his fault."

The detective and even Dean blink for a second, then the cop holds his hands up,

"Okay, easy big guy. You two have had one hell of a night here, I get that. Besides, luckily for you both we already _have_ a name. We found her purse downstairs with her drivers' license in it. Her name was Ella Hurley."

"Wait. _Hurley_?" Dean blinks, "What, you mean like – ,"

"Christopher Hurley the billionaire philanthropist," the weathered detective finishes for him, "Yep. She's his wife. Or at least, I mean, she _was_ his wife anyway, before all of this."

Roman frowns then shakes his head, feeling like he's missing out on something,

"Who's Christopher Hurley?"

The detective snorts back at him in derision,

"Come on son, have you never heard of the Hurley Foundation? They gave all of the money for the new kids wing downtown. Made all his money in overseas oil and now gives back to the community around here. How about you try maybe reading a newspaper. Although, I gotta say, he kept his old lady pretty quiet. Or used to, because the press are gonna be all _over_ this one."

He grunts again like he finds it amusing and Dean flexes his shoulders and then stands up,

"Hey listen here, you freakin' no good, badge wearin' scumbag – ,"

Roman grabs his elbow then clears his throat,

"Uh, so are we free to go?"

"Yeah," the detective nods back at him sharply, keeping his shrewd eyes focused on Dean, who is pretty much fully _vibrating_ beside them, like a kettle on a stove or a rocket primed for launch, "But make sure you swing by the precinct tomorrow to give me a statement. Oh and keep this to yourselves. Christopher Hurley doesn't know yet."

"Absolutely," Roman nods feeling angry himself, but keeping it back so he doesn't get arrested, or so he can stop his new boss from possibly doing the same thing, "Thank you for all your help this evening detective."

"Hackett," the old timer grunts in response, before narrowing his eyes and then removing the cigar tip, "Say son, haven't I seen you someplace before. Did you ever play college football or something?"

"Nope," Roman shrugs back, "Sorry, not me."

Which marks the first time in his life he has ever lied to an officer. Although he figures it's probably as good as any time to start considering the copper blonde pulsing beside him and clenching his fists up.

He grunts,

"Come on uce. How about we go ahead and get ourselves out of here so we can see how Brock and Seth are doing in the car?"

Pushing Dean in front of him they thread back into the hallway past a series of guest bedrooms and the room with the bay front, which happens to be an open plan living-kitchen, before stepping over the glass and out into the night.

Because of the sudden arrival of cop cars and not to mention the ambulance which had come screeching up, neighbors have started to pool on the sidewalk to see if they can get a quick look through the tape. Dean pushes past them all roughly,

"Freakin' vultures."

"Hey," someone stood in the crowd frowns back, as Roman holds up his hands in apology, even though he doesn't disagree with the word. Still the last thing they need is a brawl on the sidewalk and so he keeps up the rueful grin until they're free of the crowd, at which point Dean shoves the guiding hand off him and then kicks a fire hydrant in a burst of sudden fury,

"_Fuck_."

"Easy babe."

"I should have known Roman,"

"Known what?" Roman grunts, "That she was going to kill herself? Because based on the fact her family ain't out looking for her, or putting up missing posters, then not even _they _knew. So how could _you_ possibly know what she was planning?"

"Because I was the asshole that _saw_ her," Dean huffs, "I freakin' stood an' like, _talked_ to her or whatever, an' I knew somethin' was up, but I just figured she was nuts."

"This isn't your fault," Roman says again firmly, grabbing Dean's shoulder and holding him still. Not that it makes the blue eyes meet his though.

"Maybe not, but that dick of a cop in there was right," he grunts, presumably meaning Detective Hackett, "I shoulda asked for her name, or like, _turned her down_. Except then she flashed that whole bunch of twenties an' – ," he blows out a snort then reaches into his pocket and pulls out a hefty looking wad of rolled up notes, "Here uce, you have 'em."

"Babe, come on," Roman frowns at him,

"It's blood money," Dean grunts, "I don't freakin' want it anymore, or like _deserve_ it I guess, or whatever. So you have it, I mean like, spend it on your kid. Except I might 'a _kinda_ used some to buy us those coffees, an' breakfast this mornin'. But I mean it, the rest of it is yours."

Roman smiles and then pushes it down again,

"How about you use it to buy food for the dogs and that god damn pigeon you keep in the office."

"Carl?"

Roman snorts. Because of _course_ it has a name. Dean meanwhile seems to briefly think about the offer before itching at his neck,

"Well, I mean, she _did_ like Seth."

"There," Roman nods, "And besides babe, you earned it. Because I know this isn't the job that you thought it was, but think about it this way, she _wanted_ you here and if nothing else then you saved her from being – you know – _discovered_ by someone who loved her. There ain't no coming back from that."

Dean shrugs,

"I guess, an' hey, thanks for comin' with me an' like, tellin' that cop where to go an all that shit. Kinda not used to havin' people stickin' up for me."

"Partners, remember?" Roman smiles back, moving the hand that is gripping Dean's shoulder so that instead it gives him a clap on the back, "So now how about we head home and try and get a little shuteye? It's been a long day babe,"

Dean gives him a smile. A weak one granted and kind of _lopsided_, but a smile nonetheless and Roman figures that's what counts,

"Because everythin' is gonna seem better in the mornin'?"

"Probably not," Roman shrugs, "But it damn sure can't be worse."

Moving his hand to the back of Dean's neck line, he prods his new boss in the direction of the car, which is still sat silently where they had parked it with Brock and Seth asleep in the back. Brock is stretched out lengthways and is snoring, which makes the folds of his jowls flap up and down, while Seth meanwhile has curled himself up into a fuzz ball and then snuggled in right beneath one of Brock's paws, which is actually pretty damn cute all things considered, but doesn't last since Seth shoots up like a dart and then tries to attack them as they clamber back in again. Ambrose frowns at him,

"Hey, settle your tea kettle here. It's me."

Although Roman figures that might be the problem given that they had left them alone for two hours, which is how long it takes when having witnessed a suicide for all of the hoopla to be over and done. Brock busts loose a wet snore in the background as Dean fires up the engine,

"Fuck. Let's get out of here."

The rest of the drive is pretty much silent, which Roman actually finds kind of _weird_ since in the whole two days that he has known Dean Ambrose, he has kind of gotten used to him never shutting up and singing and drumming and eating and _scratching_. So having him mute feels all kinds of wrong, although he does at least follow the bigger man's directions out through the city to the cosy suburbs on the Southern side and then to a blue painted house with a basement that evidently needs cushions and a new lick of paint. There are lights on in the front and a muted glow in an upstairs window, which Roman knows means his daughter's night light is on and that she's happy and safe. Unlike poor Ella Hurley.

Dean nods approvingly,

"Holy crap dude. Nice place."

"Thanks," Roman smiles moving Seth onto the backseat, where the little marshmallow snuggles back into Brock again and then starts growling at something in a nightmare, "You can come in if you want, have something to drink, since I figure I still kind of owe you for the coffee."

Dean looks down at his hands,

"Nah, m' good, an' besides, I need to get these two jerks home again."

He thumbs over his shoulder at the two sleeping dogs and Roman nods and then squeezes his shoulder,

"Next time then babe and I'm gonna hold you to that."

By the time he gets inside Dean has already pulled off again with an unhealthy sounding bang from the station wagon's exhaust, which clearly startles Seth since Roman hears the runt barking even through the god damn double glazing of the house.

"Roman?" his wife calls out from the kitchen, "What was that noise?"

"Nothing baby girl," he grins, dropping his case down and then peeling off his jacket as he stretches out his shoulders and then heads towards her voice. She is stood by the cooker in her Halloween onesie reheating some food,

"Have you eaten?"

He kisses her,

"No."

"Okay that's fine because I saved you some chilli and there's cornbread in the oven. Did you have a good day at work? Oh and guess what. Dina Mendez who works down in the blood labs has a niece who _might_ need a new place to stay, so I thought this weekend if we painted the basement then – ,"

Roman moves towards her and sweeps her up into a hug, stopping her talking by burying her against him and then holding her tight like he might never let go. Which he might not since all he can think about is poor Ella and her husband finding out what had happened to his wife.

Her hands move up and then clench in his shirt front, giving him what he needs as she looks up in concern. Not to mention a lot of bewilderment,

"Baby, are you okay?"

He smiles at her,

"I am now."

* * *

**Same time, same place next week. Hope you're all there. This story is going to have lots of twists and turns, starting with the next chapter, when Dean finds something that doesn't quite add up...**


	7. Seven

**Okay folks, here we are, week seven and time for Dean's brain to start working in overtime!**

**ViolentHugger03, Oh dear! Well strap in, because I'm afraid I love a good cliffhanger, so there might be a *few* more to come!**

**Wolfgirl2013, Thank you!**

**SkittlezLvr79, Haha, well, I know you love your guesses, so I'm going to give you some more information in this chapter, although there's still a lot more to explore. I've never written a proper whodunnit before and I have to say, I really enjoyed it. I can see why Agatha Christie wrote so many now!**

**Mandy, Aww, glad the last chapter helped. More Roman and Dean in this one for you to keep warm by. Hope the job interview went well. There's something out there for you, you've just got to keep looking until you find it. You'll get there.**

**Not-that-kinda-gurl, Thanks! Protective Roman will always be my favourite thing!**

**Minnie1015, Hmm, well, I certainly wouldn't ever count you out. But I like to think the end will be a surprise (I think the key phrase here is 'I like to think') but there's going to be information being drip fed out almost continuously, so I kind of hope that no one guesses (of course someone will though...maybe you?!)**

**Skovko, Aww, poor Lacey Evans! I guess it might kind of fit though (except maybe imagine her outfits more toned down!) I think that's why Roman and Dean are such fun to write about, they counterbalance each other as characters so well!**

**Guest, Thank you!**

**XwwecoyoteX, Carl the pigeon is officially part of the gang! Dean is definitely going to start to smell a rat in this chapter (not literally though, since he would probably want to keep it!) and as usual, Roman is there to indulge him like the good office manager he is!**

**xXBalorBabeXx, He certainly does and don't worry, because we are going to meet Ella's husband before too long, because Dean is definitely going to want to talk to him!**

**Rebel8954, Aww, that's such a sweet way of putting it. Roman is definitely adopting Dean. He's mostly only adopting the animals because they come with Dean, but yep, family is definitely going to be a theme of this story!**

**Phoenix lord of rebirth, I think the cop has been around long enough that he just wants an easy life now. He'll be back next week though, with Dean making his life not easy! Also, there will definitely be suspense in this story (or at least, I hope it comes across like that!)**

**Okay, onwards and upwards folks...**

* * *

**SEVEN**

Because he's not used to having a partner – or possibly because of the bottle of vodka he had opened the night before to unwind from the _hanging thing_ – Dean nearly has a damn heart attack the next morning when somebody suddenly flings open the office door and strides in over the piles of paperwork and chewed up dog toys and dust.

"Hey Ambrose, you up?"

"Ho fuck," in response Dean rolls off the sofa still trapped in his blankets like a human tortilla wrap, which means he doesn't have his hands out to stop himself from falling and hitting the floorboards face first,

"Oh. You okay babe?"

Roman is stood in the doorway looking guilty, holding two styrofoam cups in his hands and with something tucked under the arm of his jacket, which is a navy blue affair with gold buttons on one side and which perfectly matches the blue pinstripe he is wearing and the actual, honest to god _tie_.

Dean frees his hand then makes a diver sign,

"M' good uce," sitting himself up he pushes down the blanket and then rubs his eyes too hard, "Fuck. What time is it?"

"Ten. I mean, I would have been in earlier," Roman offers back gently, "But I thought I should probably stop and get these first. Nothing fancy though," he grins at him fondly, passing the blonde a steaming coffee cup and repeating the same words from the morning before when Dean had said the same thing to him.

"Nothin' fancy suits me," Dean echoes back at him, before shrugging, "I mean come on, m' fuckin' sleepin' on a _couch_."

Having lumbered up from his spot beside the heating grill, Brock comes bounding – slobber flying – across the room and thrusts his nose into Roman's man satchel, which is not a euphemism.

He grins,

"Alright alright you big lug. Here," he pulls some carefully wrapped bacon from his pocket and then scoots it across the floor as Seth launches off the couch and scares Brock off by curling his tiny lip at him, "Got you something too babe. Figured you hadn't had breakfast yet."

"Fuck you're like Jesus," Dean exhales by way of a thank you, taking a packet Roman pulls from his man bag – which _man_ Dean is going to rib him about later – and then takes a sneaky peek inside the grilled focaccia sub. Scrambled egg and bacon stare back at him, "Oh yeah. _This _is the good stuff."

He takes a greasy bite then stops as Roman trips over the Jack bottle and raises an eyebrow,

"Hey," the sleepy PI grunts, "Don't go all freakin' parent on me right now. I got a woman killed, I needed a nightcap alright?"

"Yeah, about that," Roman sighs back at him, holding whatever's stuffed beneath his elbow out, so Dean can get a good long look at it, "I took Hackett's advice. Bought myself a local paper. Take a wild guess what made the front page?"

He opens it out and although Dean knows what's coming, seeing Ella's photo still catches him like a slap, especially since it's not even a good image, since the woman looks miserable and super sour faced. Which maybe had been a sign of things to come in hindsight. A piece of scrambled egg falls out of the focaccia and plops down his shirt front.

"Shit, what does it say?"

Roman scans through it,

"I don't know, I haven't read it yet."

Back over at the scene of the bacon disagreement, Carl the pigeon has muscled his way in and frightened both Seth _and_ Brock off the pig meat. Which, okay, seems a little bit wrong, because what happens when pigeons eat meat? _Can_ they eat meat? Or does it make them ill or mutate? Or possible even make them turn into _werepigeons_? Because frankly that is _all_ he freaking needs right now.

Roman shifts some paperwork off his desktop and drops down onto it as he opens the broadsheet out, before clearing his throat like it's freaking bedtime story time, even though Dean wants to hear every word. He takes a sip of coffee to prepare himself mentally – and okay, maybe physically – and then nods,

"Okay, go."

"The wife of philanthropist Christopher Hurley was found dead last night in a suspected suicide," Roman starts in a deep low timbre before glancing up.

Dean takes another sip,

"M' good."

"Ella Marie Hurley," Roman continues, "Had been married to Christopher for the past eighteen years, after they met at a charity gala being hosted by his property company, Hurley Estates. The pair have one child, a son named Henry who has been estranged from his father since 2013, citing amongst other things, his limited inheritance and Christopher wanting him _to be able to stand on his own two feet_. The division is known to have been difficult on Ella, who has been almost notoriously camera shy ever since and for the last six months has been a permanent inpatient at the famous _Blue Skies Rehabilitation Suite_. The last time she was pictured in public was two months ago, during one of her husband's latest charitable affairs, which ended in chaos when a small white chihuahua, owned by the reality TV star Eva Marie, got loose and caused Mrs Hurley to have a panic attack, precipitated by a lifelong fear of dogs."

"Wait what?"

Roman looks up and then rereads the last part again,

"I said _precipitated by a lifelong fear of dogs_. Precipitated. You know? It means to cause something."

Dean rolls his eyes,

"Ugh. I know what it means," he pauses, "Okay fine, maybe I didn't, but that ain't the problem."

"So what is then babe?"

"Scared of dogs," Dean frowns suspiciously, pushing his own irritating pooch away as Brock lumbers closer to try and swipe his egg sub, "She's not scared of dogs. She thought Seth was freakin' adorable. _Hey_ – ," he barks as the powderpuff sneak-attacks him and then tries to run off with his much needed food. As he struggles to keep Brock off, Dean snatches it back again and then moves up onto the sofa to glare at them both as they crowd around his feet growling and slobbering like two hungry orphans from a Dickens' novel, "Bad boys."

Roman shrugs at him,

"Well, I don't know babe. Maybe they cured her when she was off at that – what did they call it?" he frowns and then looks down at the newspaper again, scouring the text and the pictures of Ella for the exact bit he wants. There. "That _Blue Skies_ place."

"_Or_," Dean offers, "I met a different person. Like a decoy or somethin'?"

Roman frowns at him,

"Huh. A decoy? Hold up babe, why would she do that? Why would she hire somebody else to come meet you if she was planning on killing herself anyway?"

Roman makes a cross sign over his shirt front as Dean takes a bite of what's left of his food. He talks while he's chewing,

"That's the part I can't figure. Unless – ,"

He stops,

"Unless what?" Roman shrugs,

But Dean's brain is firing too frantically to focus, which is kind of this _thing_ he gets when he's excited or stressed and when the words move too fast and kind tumble out together. For example when he is solving a freaking _murder case_.

"_Unless_, whoever it was I was talkin' to killed her. Holy fuck, that _has _to be it. Put on a headscarf an' like, _bam_ who would know right? An' then they hire me to make it _look_ like a suicide."

Roman blinks,

"You think somebody killed her? Who? I mean, we were sitting right there. Plus we bust through the door a second later and we didn't see anyone."

Dean shrugs,

"I dunno. Maybe they _abseiled_ down the buildin' or like, uh, climbed over the roof."

"Who?"

"The freakin' _killers_ dude," Dean huffs back at him, waving the hand that is holding the focaccia and scattering egg all over the floor. Luckily Seth and Brock are on hand to lick it up again. Or at least to replace the small grease smears with drool, "Fuck, I _knew _it," Dean slaps himself roughly, "I _knew _it. She went all freakin' shifty at one point. Lookin' around like she was freakin' scared of somethin', or like, someone was followin' her or – ,"

Roman stops him,

"Easy babe."

He looks like he's trying to talk down a tiger since he's got both of his hands held up in front of him like a shield and is keeping his voice low like he's not sure what's happening. Which to be fair he's probably not, since it's the first time Dean has done the _slapping himself_ thing, which he knows isn't normal but kind of gets him fired up, or saves him from putting his foot through a window, or a brick wall or even someone _else's_ face sometimes. Although weirdly the look on Roman's cools him back down again.

He scratches his neck,

"Sorry. I get a little riled sometimes. Need to like, freakin' let it outta me somehow, which is why my first sec – uh, I mean my first _office manager_ – left when I punched myself so hard I fell down. Which I guess must 'a kinda freaked her out or whatever."

Roman smiles,

"It's okay, I get it babe. I used to bang heads with the rest of my teammates right before we went out on the field. Gave a rookie concussion this one time,"

He chuckles a little bit ruefully at that and Dean shrugs back and then bites a bratty smirk down,

"Well I mean, your head _is_ pretty big."

Roman snorts then picks up the leather jacket that Dean had stripped off sometime during the night – probably right before he had opened the vodka – and then throws it at him,

"Aright Ambrose, let's go."

Dean frowns,

"Go where."

"Down to the precinct. Hackett wanted our statements, remember?" Roman shrugs, reaching out and then tousling up Dean's scruffy hairstyle in what he figures is payback for the whole _big head_ thing.

The fu – ,"

"_Plus_," Roman adds, moving out into the hallway but keeping his hand on the well-worn brass knob, "It gives _us_ a chance to see what else the cops have found out _and_ to run that murder theory past them, huh?"

Dean huffs in response, then bends down to pick up Seth as Brock charges past them all in the door, excited to finally be going out for the morning.

"Dude, it's _not_ a theory."

Dean is certain on that. Because someone had pretended to be Ella Hurley so they could get away with murder and he's going to figure out who.

* * *

**Next week Hackett is back and we find out where the police are on the case. So...I know we're still in the early stages of this thing here, but anyone got any fledgling guesses yet?**


	8. Eight

**Here comes Detective Hackett again. But will he believe Dean and his theory?**

**Rebel8954, Carl the pigeon is a definite badass (but only because I liked the idea of Seth being scared of something even smaller than him). As for your guesses? Well, we will soon be meeting the other members of the Hurley family, so you'll be able to see how they all square up!**

**ViolentHugger03, Ooh, nice guess. Not that I can say whether or not you're right though. Guess you'll just have to keep reading (wink!)**

**SkittlezLvr79, Hmm, I wonder what clues I may (or may not have) given away! Although if anyone is going to guess the culprit it's probably you! Might be a few more clues in this chapter...or maybe there aren't? Who knows?!**

**Wolfgirl2013, Aww, thanks!**

**Minnie1015, Well, the son is going to pop up eventually. So when we meet him you'll have to let me know whether that's still your guess or not (evil grin).**

**xXBalorBabeXx, You mean the police? I like to think that Hackett is more world weary than shady. But he's definitely not the easiest person to talk to, as you will see in this chapter!**

**Skovko, Well, I can definitely tell you that Lacey Evans is not in this story (sorry) but beyond that I can confirm or deny nothing else (not even if you offered me cake. Although…) **

**Cheryl24, Ooh, another family would definitely be a curve ball. But I think Mr Hurley has enough trouble with the one he's got, as we will come to find out!**

**LHisawesome4ever, Nice guess. Dean is on your wavelength too…**

**Mandy, Aww, sorry about the rejection. Maybe try something else in the meantime? I've been in my job for 13 years. It wasn't what I wanted to do or trained to do, but I kind of fell into it and now it's my calling. Sometimes life just takes you off down a different path. Keep at it and here's some grumbly Dean in the meantime for your reading pleasure!**

**Not-that-kinda-gurl, Aww, thank you so much! Sometimes an idea just runs away with me, like it did with this story. Other times inspiration is a lot harder to come by!**

**Phoenix lord of rebirth, I like mixing chilled chapters with drama chapters. Can't be at full throttle all of the time. Hope you like this chapter, it's got a little bit of everything (or at least, I like to think it does!)**

**Here's Hackett...**

* * *

**EIGHT**

"So let me get this straight here," Detective Hackett repeats blithely, just like he had done fifteen hours before. Except if it's possible, even _less_ enthusiastically and with so much surprise the grey brows almost take off and then disappear right up into his hairline, which is impressive for a man who must be sixty – sixty five. Even though he seems to have aged another decade since Dean started talking.

"You," he sputters in disbelief, "You really think that Ella Hurley was_ murdered_?"

Dean shrugs back across the desktop at him,

"Yeah."

In total it's been eight, or maybe eight and a half minutes since the two of them had arrived at the precinct in District 3 and been shown up to Hackett's cluttered desk in the open bullpen where the traffic cops and evidently homicide worked and yet, in that time not only had Dean blurted out his theory, but Hackett had chomped through two whole cigars. Which had seemed like a pretty poor waste of a Cuban in Roman's opinion,

"Ha," Hackett suddenly laughs and then slaps his hand down over the desktop as he leans back in his chair, "Hey Bill, listen to this. Columbo over here thinks Hackett was murdered"

Bill – whoever Bill is since it's not too apparent given that pretty much _everyone_ swivels their way – throws his head back and laughs like a jackass as Dean turns bright red and then shifts in his chair.

Roman palms the back of his neck line,

"Nice deep breaths babe."

It doesn't help much.

"It was a setup," Dean insists, hissing the words out as Hackett turns back chuckling like he's heard a good joke, "The woman I met in the park wasn't Hurley. It was someone who looked like her."

"And you know this _how_?" Hackett asks, waving the tip of his cigar like a pointer.

"Because she liked Seth," Dean huffs in response, which makes the long time lawman falter and then lean in a little closer, "And now who the hell is Seth?"

"He is," Dean glowers, unzipping his jacket and revealing the familiar ball of white fluff inside. Or at least it's familiar to _Roman_ at any rate, but for Hackett it's obviously more of a surprise, since he briefly chokes on the butt of his Montecristo then removes it completely.

"Good lord son. Is that a _dog_?" in response Seth looks up and curls a tiny lip at him and the detective recoils, "You can't bring that in here."

Dean shrugs indifferently,

"Sure I can. He's a witness."

"Oh I _see_. So do you want me to take his statement as well? Tell me, does he talk or will I need a translator? I know, how about animal control?"

"Carry on uce," Roman grunts as the mood turns fractious and keen to counteract it before it gets any worse. Not that it feels like it could ever get better. Dean zips his battered leather jacket back up but then keeps going, which Roman guesses is something and better than him cursing. Or hitting himself.

"Like I said, she liked Seth, which the _real_ Ella Hurley," he emphasises the _real _bit for effect, "Wouldn't have done. Because she was like, _terrified_ of dogs an' stuff. Right uce?"

"According to this," Roman instantly backs him up, pushing a copy of The Herald across the desktop, which Detective Hackett doesn't even seem to bother glancing at.

"So like, it freakin' _couldn't_ have been her," Dean presses, trying to ignore the roomful of detectives who are still sort of _sniggering_ like they think he's insane and in hindsight, perhaps it's best that he hadn't joined the police force, since Roman kind of doubts that he would have fitted in. It seems too vicious and _cliquey _for Ambrose.

"Which means, I suppose," Hackett sighs in long suffering, "That therefore it just _had_ to be this lookalike of yours. In spite of the fact that not nine hours later, the _real_ Ella Hurley strung herself up, at exactly the time that the woman who hired you told you to be there."

Roman blinks,

"So it was definitely her?"

"Husband ID'd her last night, the poor bastard and I'll tell you what, I've never _seen_ a man look so shocked."

Roman can imagine. He thinks briefly about his own wife and then fights back the sudden burn of emotion in his throat. Dean meanwhile has started to rubbing at his neck line. Which is _still_ better than the hitting thing, but not by a lot.

"I mean, unless _he_ did it or something."

What?" Detective Hackett nearly blows a damn gasket, "So now you think _Christopher Hurley_ murdered his wife? Kid, you gotta stop smoking that peace pipe. It's doing things to you."

Dean's jacket starts to move and a man walking past with a raft full of casefiles stops in confusion and blinks open mouthed, like maybe he's stumbled on a scene out of _Alien_ and a tiny extra-terrestrial is about to burst from Dean's guts. Roman shoots him an unimpressed glower and the guy hustles on, although Roman keeps the look up and turns it instead towards the hardened detective for even damn well _hinting _that Dean is on drugs.

Which he isn't. Well, excluding Jack Daniels.

Dean frowns hotly,

"But why else would she hire me? Why would the _lookalike_ hire me I mean? Because m' tellin' you dude, someone murdered Ella Hurley, an' then strung me along so I could see it go down, an' so they had like, an' outside witness or whatever. Except I don't buy it."

"So now let me get this straight," Roman bites back a groan. There it is again. Hackett's favorite phrase, "Because _now_ what you think, is that Christopher Hurley and some lookalike girlfriend, bumped off his wife and paid _you_ to come and watch?"

Dean shrugs,

"So I could call the police or whatever, an' they would know what time to have an alibi for."

"_Or_," Hackett huffs, leaning in across the desktop like he's going to suggest a radical idea. Except for the fact that he looks completely deadpan, "The woman you met that night _was_ Ella Hurley and she paid you to be there so she knew she would be found. Because believe it or not kid, before they do these things, some people tend to be pretty damn well thought out. I mean, they write long notes and they put their affairs in order, or in _her_ case maybe make sure someone is there. So that she isn't just _in _there hung from the lampshade."

Roman feels his stomach turn over a little,

"Hey – ,"

"But what about Seth?" Dean points at his jacket, seemingly not bothered by the whole _hanging_ talk.

Hackett turns his hands up,

"Aww how the hell would I know? She killed herself kid. She was hardly in her right mind."

"But you just said she was, an' that's why she hired me."

In response Detective Hackett turns a shade of puce red that for a second Roman thinks is some form of embarrassment, before realising that – nope – the detective is pissed and probably rushed off his feet with mounds of paperwork and _provable_ murders and his endless box of cigars and so therefore the last things he wants – or needs for that matter – is a scruffy private eye who's convinced he's seen a murder but had nothing else to go on except a hunch and a small white dog.

He points a finger,

"Now you listen to me son – ,"

"Thank you detective," Roman suddenly interjects, holding out a hand and cutting the cop off mid-sentence, not to mention of course mid-angry fingerpoint at Dean, "We appreciate your time and everything you've done here."

"What?" Dean gapes in return, "No we don't. I mean, he didn't like, even have the place dusted, or canvas for witnesses or – ,"

Roman hauls him up,

"Uce, come on."

"_Fine_," Dean grunts, "But I still think he's a jackass."

Detective Hackett spreads his hands out,

"Hey, I can hear you ya know?"

"Good. Solve this thing by ourselves," Dean mutters, as Roman flashes an appeasing smile at the cop and then steers Dean past the sniggering investigators, who much like Detective Hackett think he's missing a screw.

Outside a media scrum has gathered, although they don't pay much attention to Roman and Dean. Which is probably because in his battered leather jacket, the private eye looks like a man who's been locked up and even _without_ the much maligned waistcoat, Roman still looks like his criminal defence lawyer. Which on the _plus_ side means that Dean can keep rambling, but on the _down_side means –

Well, he can ramble a _lot_.

"Stupid Hackett," he grumbles out bitterly, rubbing his palm across his collarbone on repeat and twitching his shoulders in a nervous tick motion, "Makin' out like m' crazy. I mean, do I look crazy to you?"

"Uh," Roman points to the angry neck rubbing and Dean suddenly notices and drops his hand,

"Oh."

"But no babe," Roman carries on, "You're not crazy."

He means that too. _Quirky_, but not crazy in least. Unzipping his jacket the scruffy blonde lets Seth back out, who shakes his long fur and then lets out a huff, like maybe he's _also_ upset about Hackett. Or more likely at Dean for being cooped up for so long. Not that the pedigree ever seems happy_. _Except for when he's trying to savage someone that is.

Dean shakes his head,

"M' tellin' you Roman, this whole freakin' _suicide _think fuckin' _stinks_. An' I think it goes back to Alistair Hackett."

"Christopher Hackett babe."

"Whatever," Dean flaps a hand and is about to go right back to his ticking when someone suddenly bellow his name across the street.

"Ambrose. Well, now _there's_ a sight for sore eyes."

A woman who looks like she's stepped out of _Newsies_ is stood in the throng of journalists waving like mad and wearing a pair of slacks with suspenders and an actual god damn baker boy cap. On seeing her Dean lights up in an instant,

"Nancy, that you? Fuck. It's kinda been a while."

"Five months and two weeks to be exact," she grins back at him, rising up onto her tiptoes for a kiss on the cheek as he abandons his grumbling to actually hug her, "Back when we spent that night in well, _you know_. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas though. Who's this?"

"Oh uh, Nancy, this is Roman," Dean offers as the woman steps forward and squeezes his hand. And then his bicep. She squeezes his bicep and then bites her lip,

"Ooh."

"He's my partner," Dean carries on, "He like, makes sure the office looks all neat an' stuff, so that the neighbors don't think I got broken into again."

"_Again_?" Roman hisses as Nancy chuckles giddily and then flips her hair back,

"So what are you boys doing here?"

"Same thing you are," Dean shrugs loosely, as Seth starts to whimper and keen around Nancy's feet and act like he _isn't_ a man eating rat dog ninety nine point nine damn percent of the time.

Nancy blinks,

"You're here for the Hurley case?"

Dean nods at her glumly,

"I found her last night. She freakin' like, _hired_ me or whatever, an' then the next thing we know," he waves a hand around, "Dead."

"Wait a second here," Nancy splutters incredulously, "You _found_ her? Holy shit. Deano, ya gotta give me the inside scoop, or like, a world exclusive or something. _The man who found the body_."

Dean smirks at her,

"Alright. But first you gotta give _me _a little somethin'."

"Uh oh," she grins at Roman, "I hate when he says that, since it usually costs me a whole bunch of favors or a night in the cells."

"I need Christopher Hurley's address."

"Huh?"

"Huh?" Roman echoes in equal confusion as the red headed journalist next to them shrugs and then thrusts her chin up in semi defiance,

"What makes you think I even _have_ his address?"

"Because you're the best freakin' reporter in the city," Dean counters smoothly with an incorrigible grin, "_And_ because you owe me for the thing with the monkey."

Roman doesn't even _want_ to know what that means.

"Fine," Nancy sighs, pulling out a black marker and then scribbling an address over the back of Dean's hand, "But remember Ambrose, that world exclusive interview is mine and one else's, okay?"

"Sure thing," Dean grins back as the precinct doors open and a man steps out looking frustrated and tired. Instantly the gathered press steps in together and Nancy hisses,

"Shit. Better go, that's the police chief. He might have something for us. Oh and Dean, don't go causing any trouble now, you hear?"

The copper blonde detective feigns outrage in response to her,

"Who _me_? Nance please, m' like _totally_ professional."

"Huh," she replies with a disbelieving snort, before winking in over the sidewalk at the big man, "Nice meeting you Roman, don't you be a stranger now."

"He's happily married Nance."

"Damn it," she huffs back, before turning and pressing her way into the melee, which is already busy shouting questions at the police chief and, okay, it's official, they really _are_ in an old time film, complete with people waving pencils and paper and trying hard to be heard over each other.

"Was it suicide?"

"Why has Mr Hurley not released an official statement?"

"Is it true that the body was found by a homeless man?"

Luckily though Dean doesn't seem to hear the last part, since he's busy looking down at the address on his hand and seems to be filled with a new sense of purpose.

"Come on uce."

"Come on _where_?"

"We're gonna call on this Hurley guy an' see if we can ask a few questions about his wife. Like why she hadn't been seen in public for like, forever, an' why he decided to freakin' _murder_ her."

Roman sighs and then picks Seth up off the sidewalk,

"Fine, but for the record this is a horrible idea. Oh and by the way, did she say a _monkey_?"

Dean grins,

"_Ho_ yeah. I'll tell you about it on the way."

* * *

**Next week we finally get to meet Christopher Hurley. Sherlock Holmes hats on folks!**


	9. Nine

**Okay, time to meet Christopher Hurley at last and see what he's hiding...if anything? Cast your votes now!**

**Skovko, Great, now I can't think of anything except cupcakes! Haha, I like the idea of giving Brock to Nancy. But I'm not sure she would want slobber over everything she owned!**

**Rebel8954, No domineering mothers I'm afraid. But you'll get to scope Christopher out a little more in this chapter, so see what you think of him.**

**Minnie1015, I love the idea of it being an old time series! What a shame I didn't have them in long coats and fedoras. Damn. This would totally have worked in black and white!**

**Not-that-kinda-gurl, Dean has a few different contacts around town. Including an interesting one we're still to meet. Glad you liked Nancy. I really liked peppering original characters around in this story.**

**Wolfgirl2013, Many thanks!**

**Mandy, Hello. Mum needs some more scans which are a bit worrying, but trying to stay positive. How's the freelancing going? I love having Seth as a tiny dog in this story. He just seems to fit the role perfectly!**

**xXBalorBabeXx, I think if Seth had bitten Hackett they would all have ended up in jail and then who would have found the murderer?! Finn is going to rock being a bad guy!**

**Cheryl24, Well, not a butler. But there is going to be a bodyguard…**

**Phoenix lord of rebirth, Dean is very determined. He's like the human version of Seth in this story! Just as well Roman is there to indulge them both I guess!**

**SkittlezLvr79, Aww, Hackett isn't so bad. He's just old and weary of the world. But in the meantime, it's down to our boys to find the evidence they need to convince him!**

**ViolentHugger03, Haha, well, let's just say that Dean has had quite the past in this universe. Some of which is going to come up later too!**

**LunaticMischief, Hey there, thanks for reviewing! No more Hackett for a while, but in the meantime please accept several more suspects over the next few chapters for your consideration!**

**XwwecoyoteX, I'm so sorry to hear about your grandfather. Hope he (and you) are okay. I like your theory on Ella Hurley...but of course, as usual I can neither confirm nor deny anything!**

**Let's go...**

* * *

**NINE**

Perhaps unsurprisingly for a billionaire businessman, Christopher Hurley has a pretty nice house.

Or okay, _better _than nice. Its _palatial_, or at least what little Dean and Roman can see of it over the walls and the huge crowds of press who are flocking around the front gate like vultures. Because Dean had been one hundred percent right about that.

"Damn," Roman grunts as they drive up in the station wagon, with Brock's big sandy colored ass in his face, "Death really brings out the best in some people."

Dean peers low through the windshield,

"Fuck. Kinda thought we might 'a like, beaten 'em to it. Crap. Looks like we'll have to go in round the back."

Roman blinks at him,

"Wait. There's a back way?"

"Usually," Dean shrugs, pushing Brock's tail out of his face and then silently reversing them back around the corner. Or _not_ so silently as it turns out, since he nearly sideswipes a pack of reporters and _then_ clips the mirror of a local news truck. Not that it injures the eighty eight Buick, which could probably withstand a direct nuclear hit, "These fancy places like, freakin' _always _have a back way, for the maids an' like, the pizza delivery boys."

By now they have circled around the back of the mansion and Dean is attempting to peer around Seth, who as ever is perched like a king on the dashboard,

"But I figure it must be pretty busy right now, what with everyone who's probably like, tryin' a' send flowers an' all those other things you do when somebody dies."

Or is murdered, because he's one hundred and _ten_ percent convinced about that. Ella Hurley was definitely murdered.

"There it is babe."

"Fuck," Dean nearly steers into the side of a florist truck that has started to nose its way out into the road, then slams on the brakes and lets it pull out ahead of him with a frantic looking wave, "Hurry up man, hurry up."

As soon as it's moved Dean floors the old Buick and then pumps it through the big automatic wooden doors, which are gradually starting to creak their way shut again and which miss clipping the sides by a literal hair. Probably one of Seth's hairs Dean figures, since they're wispy and thin and fluffy as hell.

Dean grins,

"See uce? I said there was a back way. There's always a back way."

"So then why does it feel kind of like we're breaking in?" Roman rumbles back at him, looking uncertain. Seth has slid off into his lap and is sitting growling at the front facing heater, which apparently has the nerve to be blowing on him. Because of _course_ Reigns has never let himself into a mansion without having a proper invite.

Dean snorts,

"Oh come on. We're not breakin' in. I mean, the doors were already open, an' _besides_, it's not like we're here to rob the joint. We're just gonna politely ask a few questions."

Roman sighs heavily,

"Are you sure about that? Because Christopher Hurley might not see it that way and I'm _damn_ sure his personal security won't."

"Probably not," the private detective shrugs back at him, before cranking the parking brake on with a grin and then trying and failing not to look arrogant, "Which is why it's a good thing I got you with me, huh?"

In order to pretend they're just _another_ set of florists delivering a token for the recently deceased, Dean swipes a handful flowers from the garden that artfully circles the back entrance to the house. As in he _physically_ swipes them right out of the soil and then bunches them together in two untidy piles, before tying them together with a pair of shoelaces that he rips from some sneakers in the back of the car. Sneakers which Brock has been using as a chew toy and which are therefore kind of _moistened_, although Dean holds them up proudly anyway,

"There," a blue alstroemeria breaks away from the bundle and folds over unhappily. Dean prods it back, "What do you think?"

Roman lifts a brow,

"Do you remember back at the precinct when I said I thought this was a terrible idea?"

Dean shrugs,

"Yeah?"

"Well turns out I was wrong babe. Because this is the _worst_ idea in the world."

"Fine," Dean pouts pulling the bouquet in closer, like Roman has just insulted his poor firstborn child, "Well if you're gonna be a freakin' Debbie Downer about it then you can stay here an' look after the dogs, an' let the professional detective – uh – _detect_ stuff, because trust me here uce, I got it all figured out."

"Yeah, what do you want?"

"Oh holy fuck."

As the door to the mansion is suddenly flung open, Dean nearly has a god damn cardiac event, which then nearly doubles as a man the size and width of a mountain pokes his head into the open,

"_Dude_," Dean grips his chest, "How about givin' a guy a little warnin'? I mean, like freakin' _cough_ or somethin' ya know?"

"I _said_ what do you want?"

The giant bodyguard steps forward and so does Roman instinctively from behind, which Dean kind of likes if he's going to be honest, because it's actually nice to have backup for once and especially when that backup weighs two hundred and fifty and has a great big tribal tattoo down one arm. Although not that the glowering bulldog of a bodyguard can see that through the suit, or the shirt, or the _tie_ as Roman holds one of Dean's wilting bouquets up and lies for what might be the first time in his life.

Or at least Dean likes to _think_ it is anyway.

"We've got a delivery for Christopher Hurley. Is he in?"

More petals fall off the slack alstroemeria, which the bodyguard points at,

"What happened to them?"

"What do you think man?" Dean huffs back in outrage before taking his chance to step past him in the door, "We got caught up in that media _circus_ you got out there, which by the way dude, is totally _not _cool, because we got like, proper livin' flowers an' shit here."

"Arrangements," Roman adds in hastily, "He means flower _arrangements_."

Dean nods,

"Yeah _that_," then steps beyond the whitewashed back corridor of the mansion and into an airy and double height hall, with doors leading off into rooms all around him and with an actual skylight above the wraparound stairs, "Whoa, nice place. Hey, does it have one of those _dumb waiter_ deals that like, takes all the food up an' down to different floors? Because I _totally_ always wanted a house with one of those in. Hey, nice lounge man."

"All flowers this way," the bodyguard grunts, elbowing rudely past Roman and then Tom-Cruise-in-Risky-Business skidding out in front of Dean to block the doorway the private eye is about to step through and ushering him sideways.

Dean frowns,

"Alright, alright. No need to get all like, freakin' snippy."

Together they step through a door on the right, which takes them from the hall into a black marble kitchen that seems roughly about the size of Dean's entire childhood house and is filled to the brim with vases of flowers and wreaths and even _statues_ made out of fresh blooms.

His own bouquet wilts in his fist just a little,

"Oh."

"Okay, put them down and then get the hell out," the security dude glares, folding his arms sternly and then lifting a brow as Dean produces a paper scrap,

"Oh sure man, sure. Just as soon as Hurley signs for 'em. Is he, uh, here somewhere?"

"Mr Hurley is by the pool," officer not-had-any-customer-training growls back at him warningly, "And is not to be disturbed."

"Oh come on dude," Dean grins, "All I need is thirty seconds. Because lemme tell you, my boss is a real freakin' hardass and he does _not_ like it when folks don't sign for stuff."

"No."

As Dean makes a casual step towards the outside, the bodyguard grabs him, which instantly triggers Roman's protective side again,

"Hey. You'd better take your hands off my partner if you know what's good for you and your face."

For a second it seems like world war three is about to blow up — in a kitchen surrounded by sympathy blooms and more fruit baskets than Dean even knows is even possible — except that suddenly a walkie talkie starts to go off and cuts through through all of the flower based from somewhere in the bodyguard's belt loops.

"_Come in Rogue One_," Dean almost snorts in response to _that_ nonsense. Rogue One? What are they. Freakin' _Top Gun_? "_We have reporters in the rose garden. Request immediate backup. Repeat, immediate backup_."

"Damn it," the bodyguard growls, letting go of Dean with an eye roll and then pointing at them them, "You two, leave the flowers and get out."

He's already buttoning up his jacket as he shouts at them, which is clearly a sign he expects some sort of a brawl as he turns and then sprints out of the kitchen.

Or okay, sort of _jogs_,

"Received. Back up on the way."

"No problem dude," Dean waves at him cheerfully, dumping his bouquet down into the sink, which obliterates what's left of the murdered alstroemeria, "Get out. Yep, can do. I mean, we're already gone."

The bodyguard lets out a grunt in response to him, then disappears around the corner still shouting,

"Come in Rogue Two."

Dean blows out a breath,

"Huh. What is the world comin' to if a billionaire can't get a little privacy nowadays?" then he straightens his rumpled up jacket and grins at his partner, "Now let's go find the son of a bitch."

Because the kitchen leads right out into the yard space – or okay, the _formal gardens_ as Roman tells him they're called – it doesn't take long for them to track down the swimming pool _or_ the figure sprawled out in a lounge chair alongside, nursing an untouched tumbler of whisky and staring off into space like the grieving widower he is-but-is-not. Although luckily before Dean can get onto _that_ part, Roman clears his throat,

"Excuse me, Mr Hurley?"

"Yes?" a greying head bobs up from the lounger, "Who are you? I told my team I didn't want to speak to the press. Batista? Batista?"

Roman coughs almost guiltily,

"Uh, you wouldn't happen to be talking about the big guy here would you? 'Bout six foot five, bald head, facial hair? Because, he's a little tied up at the moment with _real_ reporters, which for the record, we're not."

Hurley frowns,

"So then who the devil are you?"

He's an older man in his mid-to late sixties, or maybe a touch younger if Dean had to guess, with a well-practised businessman look of pure outrage that instantly creeps its way under Dean's skin. Since what right does _he_ have to be pissed off at _them_ for?

Dean takes a seat on the lounger beside him and then shrugs back indifferently,

"We're the guys that found your wife."

"_Ambrose_," Roman hisses in horror and okay so it's _possible_ that he's _maybe_ gone too far, since instead of getting up and darting off through the bushes like the murderers do in every tv show he's watched, Christopher Hurley turns a shade that's so pasty it could probably be used to stick drywall up, or possibly to explain the term _virginal white_ to someone. He chokes on his whisky as his eyes grow wide,

"You what?"

"I'm Reigns and this is Ambrose," Roman rapidly takes over, shunting his way between the loungers with a grunt, "We – I mean _Ambrose_ here – is a private detective. Your wife Ella hired him to follow her last night."

"But why?"

Chris Hurley looks totally baffled, which means either he's innocent or he's good at playing dumb. Not that Dean is going to let him off easy.

He leans forwards,

"See the thing is, we were hopin' _you_ could tell _us_, since there's a couple of things that don't freakin' add up here an' they keep on goin around an' around in my head," he twitches and then rubs at his jaw for good measure, because Hurley isn't the _only_ one of them who can act,

"Like – like what?" the mogul splutters back cluelessly,

"Like why was your wife suddenly not afraid of dogs? An' why did you have her locked up in that _Blue Skies_ place? An' no, scratch those, who the frick was that other girl? Because m' guessin it was probably like, your freakin' mistress?"

"Hold on a minute here. What _other_ girl?" Hurley frowns, "Because how dare you come into _my_ house and insinuate – ,"

"Mr Hurley," Roman grunts back, swiftly cutting in and then kicking his employer in the shin beneath the lounger as Dean reels back in startled agony,

"Ouch. The fu – ,"

"Can you think of any reason that your wife would want to kill herself?"

Christopher Hurley's eyes fill with tears as Dean sits back and rubs at his shin bone. Damn he's good. _Almost_ good enough to seem totally innocent. Which he isn't of course.

"No," he whispers brokenly, "No,"

Dropping his head into his hands he sobs a little,

"I — I don't know. I _promise_ I don't. I thought she was happy at _Blue Skies_. Getting better and now she's – ,"

He hiccups and then fully breaks down, which okay so isn't what Dean had been expecting. Or Roman evidently,

"Easy brother. It's okay."

"After everything that happened with Henry and the inheritance," Hurley continues with a whole lot of snot. Dean pulls a greasy burger wrapper from his pocket and hands it across. Hurley blows his nose, "Thanks."

"Henry's your son?" Roman clarifies gently, before grimacing as Hurley hands the snot wrapper back his way. Dean meanwhile smirks up at him like a jackass,

"Y-yes. Cutting him off was hard for us both, but he needs to learn damn it," Hurley slams down his tumbler, moving from desolate to angry in a snap and then looking up a little like a rabbit in the headlights before carrying on, "Her doctor said she had improved. He – he said she was getting much better and beating the depression and now – ,"

He chokes back another sob. Except this time no freaking _way_ is Dean buying it.

"Who is her doctor if you don't mind telling us?" Roman asks and oh yeah, the big man could be PI for _sure_. Provided he ditched the uptight suit and tie combos and made himself look a little less _groomed_.

Hurley waves a hand in defeat,

"Doctor Merrick. He's the specialist psychiatrist down at Blue Skies, since I only wanted the best for my Ella."

His voice breaks on her name and he starts crying again, in big untidy clucks that make him sound like a chicken.

Roman grabs Dean's sleeve uncomfortably,

"Come on uce. I think we've got enough. Thank you for your time Mr Hurley and we're sorry for your loss."

"And thank _you_," Christopher Hurley hiccups back, "For making sure she wasn't alone when – ,"

He tails off and Roman pulls frantically at Dean again,

"Uce, come _on_."

"Alright, alright," Dean huffs back stubbornly, although he rips himself free by the edge of the pool and then spins back to fix Christopher Hurley with what he figures is the best 'knowing' looking expression he has.

"Oh, an' don't worry. Ambrose PI is on the case now, an' m' gonna find out what happened to your wife. I mean it, I'm gonna find out the truth if it kills me."

Which is kind of ironic really, because that night it nearly does.

* * *

**Oooh, cliffhanger! Yep, next week Dean gets into a spot of trouble...tune in then folks!**


	10. Ten

**Chapter ten already? Wow. Doesn't time fly when we're having fun (at least I'm assuming we're all having fun?!)**

**Rebel8954, Well, the son is definitely going to be investigated and the doctor will pop up as well soon enough, so there's definitely still enough time to count and discount possible suspects off your list!**

**xXBalorBabeXx, Little bit late, but Happy Halloween to you too. Hope you had a good one. As for Christopher Hurley, well, there's definitely still time for him to be a suspect.**

**Minnie1015, Roman's protectiveness gives me life and if I can't see it on TV anymore, I'm damn sure going to write it (even though I wrote it even when it **_**was**_ **on TV). Just call it a public service!**

**Not-that-kinda-gurl, Don't worry, because would I ever hurt Roman or Dean? Well okay, but would I ever hurt them **_**too **_**badly...Hmm. Fine. Maybe I would!**

**Guest, Many thanks!**

**Wolfgirl2013, Thank you!**

**SkittlezLvr79, Haha, Detective Skittlez is on the case! As for Dean? Well, we know that boy secretly loves the trouble and besides, Roman wanted some excitement in his new job didn't he? Dean is just making sure there's never a dull moment!**

**Yippi-kay yay motherfucker, Well, there will always be protective Roman somewhere in my stories. But yeah, he is definitely not going to be a happy little Samoan bunny.**

**Phoenix lord of rebirth, I am a tease and an utterly shameless one at that too (evil wink). Glad you like Christopher Hurley. I mean, of course, he **_**may **_**still be the killer, but I guess you'll just have to wait and see on that one…**

**Cheryl24, Nope, Christopher Hurley is a totally original character (got a few of them in this story). But if you want to imagine him as a slightly younger version of Vince, then be my guest. **

**Skovko, Absolutely. Although one thing is for sure. **_**Someone**_ **in this story is acting. Now if only we knew who…(taps finger to chin in classic 'thinking' pose).**

**ViolentHugger03, Lots of plot thickening coming up in this chapter too and the one after it come to think of it. There's thickening coming up all over the place (okay, that sounds gross!)**

**Mandy, Glad you have an outlet in your journal and it's always interesting to come back to after a few years and see where you were. Wishing you lots of luck in your freelancing. Hope everything becomes less confusing for you. Thanks for you wishes for my mum.**

**LunaticMischief, Aww, thank you so much. I'm glad you like my stories. It always makes me happy that other people enjoy reading them! I don't mind you saving them at all. Hope you enjoy the rest of this story too!**

**Alrighty...**

* * *

**TEN**

"That's it," Roman grunts, pushing back from the desktop and then cracking his spine out with a grimace, "I think I'm done. Because I swear if I look at another damn paper my eyes are gonna cross and I'm gonna lose these handsome looks."

Dean looks up from his own desk suddenly,

"Huh?"

He has a newspaper article stuck to his face from where he's clearly been head down asleep for a while, which is probably because it's a quarter past nine and the two of them have been scouring the papers since lunchtime, reading anything they can find on the Ella Hurley case. Dean has rustled up a flip chart from somewhere and they have scribbled down any new developments in Sharpie pen, but there isn't a whole lot to see from their research other than a couple of fairly meaningless things.

The house Ella Hurley was found in was a rental. Part of her husband's portfolio.

Henry Hurley has eight convictions for carrying marijuana.

Christopher Hurley had identified his wife by her wedding ring.

Not to mention the Doctor Merrick that Hurley had mentioned isn't _just_ a psychiatrist, he actually runs _Blue Skies_, which according to one article had helped cure Demi Lovato and some reality TV star that neither one of them had ever heard of before.

Dean blinks and then peers up at the clock above the doorframe. The one beside Carl. He squints at it,

"Ho crap. Uh, sorry 'bout that. Guess I must a' drifted off there," he runs his hands through his untidy hair then shakes his head. Seth and Brock are asleep on the sofa, like he probably should be.

Roman smiles,

"Not a problem babe. But I think I should probably be heading home now."

"You find anything?"

"Nothing new partner," Roman sighs in response, pushing the last of his pile of local papers to one side of the desk and then pausing, "Listen uce – ,"

"M' tellin' you Roman, somebody killed her."

The bigger man sighs and then pulls the sort of face that he probably tends to use with his daughter when she falls off her bike or finds out the tooth fairy isn't real, "I know you do uce. But what if they didn't? What if it really _was_ suicide?"

"But Seth – ,"

"I know, I know. Some things just don't add up. But at least would you _consider_ it? Just for a second here. For me?"

Dean huffs back like a bratty little child and then rolls his eyes, which doesn't help the look much,

"Ugh," he mutters back in frustration, "Okay _fine_."

"Was that an 'okay' I just heard?" Roman asks him, dipping his head low to grin across the desktop, which turns out to be annoyingly infectious,

"I said _fine_ alright? I'll like, _consider_ it. But maybe _you_ can consider that she's been freakin' murdered."

"Pretty sure I've been considering that all day babe," Roman winks back, unfurling out of his desk chair and then starting to pull on his fancy pinstripe jacket, "Oh and seeing as how I'm _kind_ of on a roll here, my wife wants me to invite you round to dinner sometime soon."

Dean perks up,

"She does?"

"Damn straight she does. I think mostly so she can beg you not to fire my ass anytime soon. But I mean, she also wants to meet you. So does my daughter. She thinks you're like the Scooby Doo gang."

Dean lights up. He likes that and cartoons as well and besides which, he's kind of gladdened, since usually nice, normal, _regular_ people don't want him and his brand of crazy around. And yet there's Roman Reigns. Inviting him _into _it.

He looks up with a grin,

"Do I get to bring Seth?"

"Pretty sure my daughter would kill me if you didn't," Roman smiles back, giving the small white dog a pat and then snorting as Seth tries to eat him in dreamworld, "See you tomorrow brother."

Roman holds out his fist and Dean leans over the table and bumps it before blinking as Roman lifts it up to his lips, like he's drinking from an imaginary bottle or something. Well, either that or he's lost it.

"Uh, hey uce? What's that?"

"Oh," Roman snorts and then scratches his beard growth, like maybe he's embarrassed, "We used to do that on the team. Sorry, I guess it's kind of a habit."

"You mean like a secret handshake?"

Roman shrugs,

"I mean, I _guess_."

Dean grins,

"Cool. I always like, wanted to have one of those with someone. But what with my mom always movin' us around an' me bein' like, _antisocial_ or whatever," he air quotes that part like he's heard it before. Probably from a teacher or social worker Roman guesses, "I like, never kinda had any real _friends_ you know?"

"Well you got one now," Roman smiles back fondly, "Which is why I'm gonna tell your sorry ass to go to bed. We can pick all this up again in the morning. You hear me?"

Dean mock huffs at him,

"Alright, alright _mom_. M' just gonna take the pooches out for a pee break an' then I'll hit the hay. I promise."

"I'm gonna hold you to that."

Which is probably why, not ten minutes later Dean is stood out on the sidewalk in the dark, with Brock and Seth both straining on the leashes he has bought them as he holds up a hand and sees Roman off.

"You hear that Seth?" he grunts at the cotton ball, who is glaring at him for having been turned out into the cold, "You an' me are gonna be goin' out to dinner. So no freakin' yappin' an' like, _growlin'_ at stuff. An' _especially_ not at uce's freakin' kid. Do you hear me?"

Seth cocks his leg up a tree,

"Well you'd better. Brock, you're gonna have to stay here an' like, keep a' watch on things or whatever, because you kinda drool a lot, an' I didn't wanna say anythin' an' like, make you feel bad, but people don't really want dog spit in their house."

Brock blows a snot bubble out of his nostril which Dean takes as a protest.

"Look dude, sorry, but the truth hurts."

There is a small patch of scrubland surrounded by railings in the middle of the square outside the rundown brownstone. Or the rundown brown_stones_ since the street is lined with them. Each one as crappy and as unloved as the last. Once upon a time – like, fifty years ago he figures – the whole place was probably pretty damn nice. With Cadillacs parked up along the street and normal families, like Roman and his wife. Instead of buildings full of pimps.

Usually the tiny little park in the middle is full of hobos, or pill pushers and scruffy gang kids, but the bitterly cold weather has kept them inside for once, which means that they have the whole place all to themselves. There's a bench to one side and so Dean pulls down his beanie, shunts his hands into his pockets and then sits himself down, while Seth and Brock sniff around and chase the squirrels who are trying to beat the cold by digging up nuts.

His mind drifts back to what Roman had been telling him. What if this whole thing _is_ a suicide?

Dean blinks.

No. He knows that it isn't because – well, okay. He doesn't _know_ that. He just _feels_ it. Like he _felt_ he wasn't meant to be a cop, and in the same way he felt like Roman was a good guy from the moment he had met him. He just he freaking _knows_.

Or at least he _thinks_ he does.

"_Fuck_," he rubs a hand across his stubble then grumbles, "Seth, whoa, hey, stop sniffin' Brock's ass. Because people are gonna start talkin' about you an' I mean like, _then_ what would I say? An' besides, you're _brothers_ man. So frankly dude it's pretty freakin' sick."

Seth curls his lip and then trots off into the bushes as Brock twirls around and then starts to take a leak,

"_Finally_. Thought I was gonna be here all night or somethin," Dean gets up again, "Alright. Seth, come on."

Behind him he hears a tiny rustle in the bushes and then a muffled little yelp, like the cotton ball's in pain,

"Seth? You alright bud?"

Dean steps towards it, but only gets two paces before a figure launches out. Or make that _two_ figures, both dressed in black outfits and with long balaclavas covering their heads. Except that only _one_ of them does any launching. The other one just sort of stands and fucking _looks_. Not that Dean has much time to consider it as the other one buries their fist into his head.

"Ho fuck – ,"

Dean goes down like a sack of potatoes and then crashes back – ribs first – into the bench, which hurts even more than the blow to the temple. Or not. Because okay, that _really_ freaking hurts.

"Brock," he yells as the tall, muscular attacker dives down on top of him and pulls out a knife, "Shit."

Dean fights a fist free and then swings it upwards, catching the man in the middle of the gut before trying to battle the damn knife away from him. Except, holy crap is the mugger _freakishly_ strong.

"_Brock_."

The worst part is that he can _see_ the bull mastiff twelve feet away from him sniffing a pile of turd and either blind or indifferent to the mugging, or whatever the fuck is happening

"God damn it. _Brock_ – ,"

Lifting his kneecap up into a fleshy ballsack, Dean is rewarded with a pained sounding groan, which is when Seth decides to launch in from out of nowhere and sink his needle teeth into the guy's ankle,

"_Argh_."

Stumbling back the guy swings the knife downwards, but Dean kicks out and knocks him away, before bundling Seth up close to his body and trying to pretend like he _isn't_ seeing stars, or like his head _isn't_ pounding like a nightclub in Cabo full of horny teenagers getting drunk on Spring Break. Oh and it's also possible a few ribs are broken.

The burly attacker stumbles back unsteadily as the other one thankfully pulls at his arm,

"Stop sniffing around into things that don't concern you," balaclava man mumbles, sounding breathless himself and like maybe he's trying to hide what he sounds like, "Because the next time, trust me, I'm not going to miss."

"Oh yeah?" Dean snorts, "Why wait until next time? I'm here right now."

The attacker steps in again but is stopped by a shrill sounding shout from a brownstone. Or _his_ brownstone to be exact.

"Hey, what's going on?"

Sunny is leant right out of the doorway and oh god, Dean could kiss her. He really freaking could, since the two masked figures reconsider their options and then suddenly take off,

"Yeah," Sunny screams, "You'd better run."

Back in the square Brock lazily pads over and then greets Dean unhelpfully with a sloppy lick to the face, seemingly unaware that anything has happened.

Dean groans,

"Some freakin' man eatin' guard dog _you_ are. Although _you_ on the other hand," he lifts Seth up fondly, "Are a _real_ good boy. You hear me Seth? _Real_ good."

His head spins suddenly and so he drops back with a grumble to lean against the bench as Sunny rushes up,

"Dean?"

He shuts his blue eyes wearily,

"M' okay. Jus' gonna like, rest up here for a second an' kinda get my breath back."

Except then he passes out.

* * *

**Yep. Roman is not going to be impressed. The Samoan big brother/mom vibes will be strong!**


	11. Eleven

**Time to pay a visit to Ella's rehab clinic and meet a few new people. Get your suspect lists back out…**

**Rebel8954, I kind of loved the idea of dog Brock being a big goober. Honestly, I think the real Brock should adopt some of this into his onscreen persona. It would do him the power of good!**

**xXBalorBabeXx, Roman is a mix of angry, worried and brotherly...so standard Roman stuff really. Or at least it is when Dean is around!**

**Cheryl24, Seth is definitely okay. He got to attack some people, so that makes what happened last chapter a good night for him!**

**Wolfgirl2013, Thanks!**

**Minnie1015, Well, you'll get your angst and drama a lot more in this story (who can resist protective Roman after all? Not me, that's for sure) but right now we've got to keep this mystery train a-rollin'!**

**XwwecoyoteX, Aww, your poor grandad. I've had concussion before and it is not much fun! Glad you're loving slobbery dog Brock. He's way better than the real thing (if I say so myself). As always, I can neither confirm or deny your murder theories, but I certainly love reading them! I only hope the real ending lives up to the ones that people are guessing!**

**Skovko, Hmmm. Interesting theory...but you don't expect me to give you any clues do you? You definitely know me better than that! Throwing another couple of suspects at you here. You know, just for fun!**

**Mandy, How is the job searching going? Sorry you got a rejection last week, but it's their loss! Glad you liked the last chapter. Writing Dean and Roman's growing friendship is so much fun sometimes, especially writing Roman just accepting Dean's quirks. Those two are a writer's gift!**

**ViolentHugger03, I think Seth's greatest reward is that he got to bite at someone's ankles. But he's definitely not going to say no to a fillet steak! Poor Brock, he just doesn't have that killer instinct (unlike real Brock!)**

**I-Am-WarKitten, Hurt/comfort is my specialty (I like to think anyway!) Plenty more of it coming up in this story too! Yep, the good news is that I've got a couple of new ideas for the taskforce stories. It's just trying to find the time to write them down!**

**Phoenix lord of rebirth, Roman definitely has his hands full looking after Dean in this story. But then again, is it even Roman if he's not worrying about his boy?! Glad you're still enjoying it because there's plenty more to come!**

**The mystery deepens...**

* * *

**ELEVEN**

"Welcome to Blue Skies, how can I help you?" the pretty little blonde behind the desk chirps their way, before looking up and catching a load of the shiner that is squinting back down at her and then recoiling, "Oh my – ,"

Dean smirks lopsidedly,

"Yeah, you ought to see the other guy."

"Hey baby girl, we're here to see Dr Merrick," Roman distracts her by smiling warmly across the desk, even though his own first reaction to Dean's injury had mostly been the same. Well, that and angry as hell. Especially when Sunny had stopped him in the hallway blowing smoke in his face,

"Hey, muscles, in here."

Pushing her door wide – which had kind of alarmed him, since given her job he hadn't known what to expect – he had straight up gaped at the sight of his partner sprawled over her bedsheets looking beaten to shit.

"Babe – ,"

"I told you Roman," he had grinned back lethargically, which had pretty much proven the copper blond was concussed, "I freakin' _told_ you that Ella Hurley was murdered. Somebody tried to fuckin' warn me off the case."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Dean had lied back cheerfully. Too cheerfully for Roman's liking, "But Brock was like, _zero_ help."

It had taken ten minutes and a whole lot more coaxing to get him up the stairs into the office after that and another fifteen for Roman to find the first aid kit beneath all of the paperwork and apply the ice and salve. None of which had stopped Dean from rambling,

"Hurley. I mean, it freakin' _has_ to be him. Because one minute we're there tellin' him our names or whatever, an' the next m' like, bein' beaten to hell, an' bein' told to _leave things alone_ an' all _that _shit. I told you uce. I _told _you."

"I know, I know. Hey, sit still."

It had taken another half an hour – or maybe longer – to get Dean back down the stairs into the car and then forty five to beat the rush hour traffic to the clinic on the outskirts where they are currently stood, against pretty much _all_ of Romans insistences that what Dean needed was to tell the police and possibly himself get checked out at a hospital, but both of which suggestions had been solidly rebuked.

"Come on uce, you heard what that Hackett thought of me. He'll just think this is someone _else_ I pissed off. We need like, real solid evidence or somethin'."

"Fine," Roman had sighed, like he did with his kid when she wanted to have ice cream but hadn't eaten her vegetables, "If I drive you to Blue Skies _then_ will you go and get checked out?"

"Deal," Dean had shrugged.

Hence the reason they are stood there, grinning down at the receptionist like a pair of Cheshire cats.

The blonde woman falters apologetically,

"Oh, I'm sorry, but I'm afraid that Dr Merrick is fully booked for today. Although maybe if you'd like to make an appointment, then – ,"

"Tell him it's about Ella Hurley," Dean grunts, making not only the blonde stop suddenly, but all of the other women sat behind the desk as well.

She picks up the phone,

"If you could just wait a minute."

"Of course baby girl," Roman soothes her gently, "Thanks."

In the meantime Dean has turned back into the waiting room, which is a typical _private clinic_ type affair, with a white polished floor and white sterile seating and an actual water feature in the middle of the room, which the copper blonde is lazily tossing a coin into, in spite of the fact that it is _not_ a wishing well. Someone behind the desk sort of _harrumphs_ in disgust at him as Roman pats his shoulder,

"Hey babe, how do you feel?"

Dean snorts,

"Kinda like I got one side of my head creamed in by a masked fuckin' killer in the freezin' cold last night. But other than that," he shrugs, "Pretty awesome."

He tosses another coin in and yep, _still_ not a wishing well. Not that Roman has the heart to tell him that though. Instead he clears his throat,

"Are you sure about this babe? Because you know, it's still not too late for you to back out and leave this thing alone like they told you."

Dean shakes his head,

"Nah, I mean, I _thought _about it, but it kinda takes a lot more n' that to freakin' scare me. M' kind of a whore for the danger, you know? An' besides, it makes a change from like, stakin' out houses an' takin' photos of husbands freakin' cheatin' on their wives. But," he shrugs, "I mean, if _you_ wanna back out of it, then I like, totally get it. Because you got a kid. So the last thing you want is people tryin' 'a kill ya."

Roman ruffles his hair,

"Nope, I'm good and besides, I'm just the damn secretary, remember? No one comes after the _secretary_."

"Office manager," Dean corrects, as the perky blonde woman back on reception puts down the phone and then smiles,

"Well gentlemen, it looks like you're in luck. Dr Merrick can see you in between his morning patients," she pushes herself up onto white heels, "Please follow me."

Swiping her staff pass, she leads them from the entrance with its modern water feature come newly-fashioned-wishing-well and out into an open air quad filled with shrubbery and with – yep – yet _another_ fountain in the middle of it all, throwing jets up into the air like a geyser before dropping them down into cross shaped koi pool. In-patients dressed in white smocks are gathered around it, or are stood around the flower beds helped by blue clad staff and there are doors on all sides to what look to be bedrooms and a variety of weird treatment and wellness rooms.

The pretty blonde hiccups,

"It's so sad about Mrs Hurley. I was reading all about it in the paper today," she shakes her head, "Jenni must be _devastated_."

Dean blinks at her,

"Who's Jenni?"

"Her roommate while she was here," the blonde shrugs, "Or, I mean, for _most_ of it anyway, since Jenni had to leave us a couple of weeks back. But before Ella left, those two were super friendly and _so_ similar looking. It was actually kind of weird. Except for the fact that Jenni had red hair, while poor Mrs Hurley was a blonde, just like me. Even though she totally dyed it. She would have had to at her age."

"Uh, did you say they looked the same?" Roman asks, shooting a glance at his partner and finding the sharp blue eyes staring back. Evidently following his wavelength,

"You think the woman at the park – ,"

Roman shrugs,

"I don't know. But I mean, you _did_ say it had to be a lookalike and now it kinda seems like we got one after all."

"Oh yes," the blonde nods back, not hearing their conversation as she buzzes them into one of the buildings across the quad. In spite of the cold November weather blowing around them, inside the air conditioning is clearly turned on, which makes the place feel even _more_ sterile. Which Roman hadn't thought was even possible.

But there it was.

"Uh, you said this _Jenni_ had to leave?"

"It happens," the blonde shakes her head, "Treatment can get expensive here and sometimes people just run out of money. Which is why Doctor Merrick is introducing The Global Fund."

Dean blinks,

"The what?"

"The Global Fund," she beams proudly, before reciting what can only be a memorized pamphlet read-out, "Dr Merrick believes that mental health care should be for everyone, so he set up The Global Fund to provide for those patients in need. The idea is that those of our clients who are wealthy – or donors who want their hard earned money to do some good – contribute to the fund which then goes to the needy so they can afford the fees we have here."

"So why not just lower your fees?" Dean frowns back at her. The woman smiles brightly, not seeing the problem,

"But we don't need to. We have the fund and," she lowers her voice to a whisper, like she's sharing a secret over a pedicure with her friends, since she's all blue eyes and blonde hair and giggles, "I hear poor _Mr_ Hurley is going to chip in. You know in memory of poor _Mrs_ Hurley. He phoned Dr Merrick and made the offer last night, which means that we can help lots of people like Jennifer."

"But not Jennifer herself?" Roman clarifies,

"No," the blonde bites her lip, "The fund is still a _work in progress_ and poor Miss Boseman – that's Jenni's name by the way – left too early to be able to use it."

"I see."

"Oh," she blinks suddenly, "Whoops, I shouldn't have said that. Dr Merrick is very strict on confidentiality and things."

Dean waves a hand then wraps an arm around his waistline as one or else _all_ of his battered ribs twinge, which Roman doesn't fail to notice with a hitch of raw fury that makes his meaty fists clench.

"Nah, don't worry about it. You're good. Because the two of us are like, private detectives, so we're real good with secrets an' like, not revealin' stuff."

"Wow, you're detectives?" the girl gasps excitedly as Roman scratches his head awkwardly,

"Well, uh – ,"

"Yep," Dean carries on, like it's not even a question and sounding weirdly kind of proud of it, "That's us alright. Ambrose an' Reigns. So trust us. You can tell us freakin' _anythin'_ an' no one will know."

"Really?" the young woman stops and her eyes seem to dart around for a second like she's debating potentially telling them something big.

"Really baby girl," Roman puts in warmly, which – as usual – seems to do the trick,

"Okay," she grins, "Although I probably shouldn't say it, but it _did_ seem weird that Mr Hurley was chipping in. _Especially_ given all the problems in their marriage."

"What problems?" Roman frowns sharing a quick look with Dean.

The woman shrugs,

"Well from what I hear they had all kinds of trouble and they'd basically been living apart for years. Poor Mrs Hurley hated her husband, but couldn't divorce him because she signed a prenup, which meant she would have ended up with like, _nothing_, so really it's no wonder she did what she did. Plus Mr Hurley would make eyes at anyone. He even flirted with _me_ once when he was here to see his wife. _And_ he used to hit on Jennifer. The man is a scumbag. Oh," she trills, "Here we are."

They have arrived – evidently and without any warning – right outside Dr Merrick's office door, which she raps on twice then swings open with a throat clear,

"Dr Merrick. It's the two men I called you about. They wanted to speak to you about Mrs Hurley."

A face looks up from the desk,

"Send them in."

Dr Merrick is not what Roman had expected. Mainly since he isn't over sixty years old, _or_ bespectacled with a pepper pot hairstyle. Because instead he looks maybe mid-forties if that, with a thick head of hair that has been styled back neatly and with well clipped facial hair and sharp brown eyes. He stands from his desk in order to greet them and it turns out that he's taller than Roman had figured him too, since he must be the same height as them. If not taller and well-built too.

"Well, good morning gentlemen," he smiles, reaching to offer each one of them a handshake, which perhaps unsurprisingly is also super strong. Although it falters a little as he swings it to Ambrose and catches a glimpse of the black, swollen eye.

"Goodness, what happened to you? Oh, thank you Cassie," he nods to the blonde still hovering in the door, who giggles a little like she's just met her hero and then skitters away.

Dean shrugs,

"Oh, you know. Can't make an omelette without breakin' a few eggs, right? Well, turns out _I'm_ the omelette."

Dr Merrick sort of blinks and then gestures to an exam bed he has in one corner of the bright and airy room,

"Here, allow me to have a look."

"Nah," Dean shrugs, "I'm – ,"

"Thank you Doctor," Roman buts in, gently shoving his partner towards the white coat as Merrick turns on the overhead lighting and pulls on a pair of gloves, "We'd appreciate that."

As Dean climbs up onto the table with a grumble, Merrick leans in closer and then starts to prod, while at the same time keeping up a friendly type patter as if he often patches total strangers up in his office, "So how can I help? Cassie said it was something to do with Ella – oh, excuse me, _Mrs Hurley_ I mean. Does this hurt?"

"_Fuck_," Dean barks back at him, jolting in outrage as Dr Merrick pokes his cheek.

Roman clears his throat

"We're private detectives. Ambrose here had business with Mrs Hurley before she died."

"Oh? What kind?" Dr Merrick asks frowning, as he probes at Dean's injury and then starts to feel along his jaw.

Dean waits for him to stop,

"The _nothin' you need to know_ kind. 'Cos you ain't the _only_ one with patient confidentiality an' stuff."

Merrick snaps his gloves off,

"All done. Nothing broken, although there _could_ be a hairline fracture of the eye socket I suppose and there does seem to be a very mild concussion, but Tylenol and rest should sort those both out."

"Thanks doc," Roman nods back at him in gratitude as Dean mutters something that fortunately no one seems to hear, "But we were wondering if you could help us try and tie some loose ends up."

"Aren't the police supposed to be doing that?" Merrick asks, perfectly reasonably all things considered, "I had a Detective Hackett come by last night, so I'm not sure what a couple of private detectives could ask that he didn't."

"Why did Ella Hurley check out of here?" Dean growls, hopping down off the bed with a grunt of frustration as it aggravates his beaten up ribcage some more, "An' why the frick did you tell Christopher Hurley that his wife was gettin better if she wasn't?"

"Because she _was_. Not that I have to explain things to either one of you," Merrick smiles thinly, "Because of, ahem, _patient confidentiality and stuff_."

Roman palms Dean on the nape and sighs,

"Listen – ," he's fast beginning to think that maybe _this_ is his role. Calming Dean down and making the apologies every time the copper blonde gets too damn hot, "Me and Dean are gonna level with you here doc. We found Ella Hurley after she took her own life and _Ambrose_ here has kinda taken that pretty badly, so anything you can think that might help us understand it would be a real help."

Merrick blinks at them a bit and then sits back down in his chair with grumble and a momentary wince,

"Sorry about that," he smiles, "Old injury. It flares up from time to time in cold weather," he has his arm pressed over his gut, but drops it to blow a reluctant sounding sigh out before throwing up a hand, "Fine. Ella was affected by the Jennifer thing."

Dean frowns,

"What, you mean her like, runnin' out of money?"

"No," Merrick blinks before narrowing his eyes, probably in bafflement about how he could know that, "That happened later, after Ella had left. The _Jennifer_ incident took place some weeks before that when Christopher Hurley came to visit one day and was found – ," he shifts, "Making _advances_ towards Jenni. I mean, poor Ella was horribly distraught and even though Christopher kept saying it was an accident no one believed him and Ella just seemed to go backwards after that. Checked herself out two weeks later – against my advice it has to be said. And that was that. I assumed she'd gone back home again, to the Hamptons, or to Christopher even. But obviously not. Other than that though, I'm not sure what else I can tell you."

"Um, Dr Merrick?" they're interrupted by a knock and a nervous looking man in the white scrubs of a patient peeking his head around the door,

"Ah, Steven come in," Merrick grins soothingly, "Don't be afraid now, these two men were just on their way out. Gentlemen," he nods extending his hand again, which Roman notices that Dean takes with a pained looking wince, "I hope I was of some help in unravelling this tragedy."

Roman nods back at him,

"Oh trust me brother, you were."

* * *

**So, confused yet? I hope so. Next week we end up with more suspects. Or maybe less suspects. Because who knows anymore?! (Just kidding. I do).**


	12. Twelve

**Time for Dean and Roman to have an unexpected visitor.**

**Minnie1015, I love reading through the process of you trying to work everything out! I kind of hoped that when I wrote a proper murder mystery it would be mysterious and I'm definitely its giving you pause for thought! Maybe a bit more in this chapter…**

**Cheryl24, Well, we've got a few other characters to meet yet, so you can see whether or not Dr Merrick is still setting off alarm bells in a few chapters or whether he's a big old red herring!**

**Wolfgirl2013, Aww, many thanks!**

**xXBalorBabeXx, Well, Dean is definitely with you on that one (especially now he knows someone is trying to warn him off). Roman is mostly just trying to keep Dean happy. Good old Roman!**

**Mandy, Sorry to hear the job hunting isn't going quite to plan. These things are sent to try us sometimes. Keep your chin up. Mum needs a few more tests to make sure nothing has come back, so keep your fingers crossed for a good result. In the meantime, let's both escape from the real world for a bit with Dean and Roman. Always works for me!**

**Rebel8954, Well, you're about to get more answers for Christopher Hurley, so you can see what you think about his involvement and indiscretions once you've heard his side. Or maybe you'll think he's lying even harder to cover his tracks?**

**Skovko, Haha, you stick with your theory! You'll get nothing from me though *zips up lips***

**ViolentHugger03, Ooh, I'm glad you think so and hopefully things are only going to get juicier as we go on!**

**LunaticMischief, Oh wow, thank you so much. I put a lot of thought into the flow of my stories and how long the chapters should be. Glad that comes through and keeps you hungry for more!**

**Not-that-kinda-gurl, Well, before you castrate Hurley (and maybe off Jenni too) I've got some more details on him coming up, so see what you think afterwards. There's always time to drop in a few more suspects!**

**Phoenix lord of rebirth, Well, you might get your chance to have another run at Hurley coming up, so see what you think of him when this chapter is done. Not that I'm going to make anything easy for you though! Glad you're still enjoying it!**

**Over to Dean and Roman...**

* * *

**TWELVE**

"Okay," Dean grunts, "So like, here's what 'm thinkin'. Hurley was messin' around on his wife with the roommate from her rehab place — which is a _total_ scumbag move by the way. He gets worried she's gonna tell someone an' like, ruin his whole _nice-guy-philanthropy_ thing, so the roommate-slash-mistress-slash-lookalike-woman, hires _me_ to watch Ella freakin' killin' herself. Except _really_ Hurley murders her to make it _look_ like a suicide all so he can get his wife outta the way."

"And who then somehow gets himself out of house," Roman adds, trampling up the rickety staircase behind him as Brock and Seth dart past into the brownstone hall, "Which we _still_ don't got an explanation for babe."

Dean waves a hand,

"Eh, one thing at a time uce. Because what we _do_ got is a motive _and_ like, an accomplice now. Plus Christopher Hurley gave money to that fund, which is basically straight up _admittin'_ he killed her."

"Not sure a court of law is going to see it that way."

After having left the Blue Skies clinic behind them, the two of them had stopped off at Burger King for something to eat, since Dean had managed to skip breakfast _and_ dinner in between having been beaten up and left for dead, which _should_ have meant he was hungrier than ever. Except thanks to the concussion that was pounding in his cranium he had mostly just picked at the burger and sides. Roman meanwhile had moved into full dad mode,

"Hey, come on now, three more fries and maybe another two bites of your zinger and I'll stop nagging at you."

Dean had grunted,

"Ugh. _Fine_."

Although ever since then he had seemed a bit more perky. Or pumped, which in Dean's world was pretty much the same thing, hence his brain working in murder-mystery overdrive as they plod up to the office.

"We should find that _Jenni_ girl. 'Cept she's probably already like, gone to ground somewhere an' is lyin' low so she doesn't get found by the cops."

"You really think she had something to do with it?" Roman asks with a frown as Seth growls from up ahead, probably at a shadow or a piece of dust or something.

Dean shrugs,

"I dunno. It's a workin' theory I guess. But the thing that I'm freakin' like, a _hundred percent_ on is Christopher Hurley killin' his wife. An' no fuckin' way is Dick Hackett sayin' otherwise, or my name ain't Dean Ambr – oh you gotta be _kiddin'_ me."

Because he is trampling up the staircase behind him, Roman can't see what has startled Dean at first, _or_ what has got Seth riled up and barking, although frankly there's a million possibilities on that.

"What the hell are _you_ doin' here?" Dean asks hotly, "Your hired goons not finish me off last night, so now you've come to do the job properly?"

At that Roman pushes his copper blonde partner aside and then steps in front of him with his fists curled in anger to find Christopher Hurley blinking back at them.

"What? What _hired_ _goons_?" he frowns, "What are you going on about and – ," he squints through the half-light, "What happened to your eye?"

"Actually we were going to ask _you_ the same question," Roman rumbles back, although he's cooled down a bit, since Hurley doesn't seem to have brought any weapons, or anything other than a baffled looking frown, which he's levelling down towards Seth for the most part, as the small white assassin tries to nip at his heels. Brock meanwhile is sat licking his own privates, which was like Dean had said earlier –

_Brock was no help_.

"Last night Ambrose was attacked by a couple people who told him to stop looking into your wife's death, we figured that _you_ might know who would do that."

"_Me_?" Hurley splutters, "How in the world would I know that?"

"Because we know you killed your wife an' made it look like a suicide," Dean puts in suddenly and without any warning at all, "So you could like, run off with her little redhead roommate. An' _that's_ why you hired those guys to kill me last night. So you could keep your murderous little plan hidden an' then go join your other girl somewhere on a beach."

"Babe," Roman hisses, digging Dean in the ribcage as Christopher Hurley has a god damn heart attack, or else transforms into a guppy in front of them, since all he can do is sort of open and close his mouth and possibly try to hold onto his eyeballs, which look like they're about to pop out of his head,

"You think – ," he gapes at them. Open. Close. Open, "You think _I_ killed Ella?"

He seems totally stunned and his slack jawed horror kind of dampens Dean's anger,

"You didn't?" he frowns, his face scrunching up.

"No? How could you _think_ that? She – she was my wife. I loved her."

"But – ,"

Further along the hallway a door opens up and the pawnbroker who rents the room Monday through Friday pops out in the same stained white wife beater he always wears and which Roman has clearly at some point become used to over the last couple of days in the brownstone,

"Hey," he barks, "I'm tryin' a run a business in here."

Roman sucks a breath in and then holds a neighborly hand up,

"Babe? Uh, maybe we should take this inside."

"Alright alright," Dean fumbles the key loose and then stands back to let Christopher Hurley in first, or at least that's what the billionaire seems to think anyway, since he takes a step forward still looking watery eyed, only to be nearly knocked flat in the doorway by Seth and then Brock.

But mostly by Brock.

"After you," Dean smirks in response like an asshole as Christopher blinks at him, or possibly at the mess, which is near enough spilling right out of the office even though Roman has been working his damn ass off tidying up, "Find yourself a freakin' seat."

Nodding uncertainly the older man steps in, although Roman grabs Dean before he can follow him through and then keeps his voice low,

"You think he's telling the truth here?"

Dean shrugs back at him,

"Like, honestly? No. Because my head's like, _totally_ sayin he killed her, except, if he _did_ then why the fuck is he here?"

Roman sighs,

"You wanna go ask him?"

Dean grins,

"You know what uce? You just read my freakin' mind."

"But hey," Roman warns with a wince, "Go easy."

Dean nods,

"Go easy. Sure thing man, can do."

Although the fact he cracks his knuckles before stepping in over the threshold doesn't fill the big man with a whole lot of hope and nor does the fact that Christopher Hurley has taken a seat – of all places – at Dean's god damn desk, since Brock and Seth have unhelpfully claimed the sofa and Carl the pigeon is doing laps around the room, which the businessman is watching with such total confusion that for a second Roman figures that he must have concussion too, or possibly be in the middle of a stress induced seizure.

Although thankfully it's neither.

"So like, what's the freakin' deal?" Dean starts in what is evidently his take on _go easy_ and not even flinching as Carl swoops past his head, "Why are you here an' what the fuck do you want from us?"

Us? Roman blinks for a moment at that and then wonders at what point in the four days he has known him, that he and Dean Ambrose had officially become _us_. Although in hindsight it had _probably_ been from the moment that Roman had let the whole _babe_ thing slip loose, or possibly from day two when he had turned up for work again instead of bailing out like all the other temps had. Since Roman gets the sneaking impression that when it comes to Ambrose, people _not_ bailing out on him is kind of rare, which breaks his big old heart just a little.

Or okay, a lot. It breaks his damn heart a lot.

Christopher Hurley sucks a long unsteady breath in and then brushes off some dog hair,

"I want to hire you."

"You – _huh_?" Dean half-snorts, half-chokes in astonishment and then laughs, "Did you say you wanted to freakin' _hire_ me? For what? You got another wife you're thinkin' of ditchin'?"

Roman throws a ball of wadded paper at his head and then takes control of the tentative opening as Dean looks up in outrage,

"Dude? What in the fu – ,"

"Hire Dean to do _what_ exactly Mr Hurley?" he asks, ignoring the blue eyed death glare to his side _and_ the dive bombing pigeon cooing above him, who isn't really helping.

"Because I think my wife was killed and I need you two to find out exactly who did it."

Dean blinks,

"Okay," he makes a t-shape with his hands and then shakes his head like he's lost the conversation, or is possibly seeing stars, or a little of both, "Wait a minute, you want _us_ to look into your wife's murder when we already _have_ an' figured out it was you?"

Christopher Hurley turns a shade of bright purple – which makes a nice change from white – then balls his fists,

"It wasn't me."

"So then who the hell was it?" Dean blinks,

"It was Henry."

"Wait, who the fuck is fuckin' _Henry_?"

"Their son babe."

"Oh."

Dean drops down onto the paper strewn desktop looking even more baffled than he had been before _and_ more tired, which is hardly surprising given that some assholes had tried to _kill_ him the night before. Hurley meanwhile seems more outraged than ever,

"I mean why in Heaven's name would I kill my own _wife_?"

"So you could shack up with that woman from Blue Skies like I told you," Dean shrugs back rubbing a hand across his face and clearly forgetting about his brooding black shiner considering that he hits it and then barks a curse out, "_Fuck_."

"What woman from Blue Skies?" Christopher Hurley asks indignantly,

"The roommate."

"The _roommate_? Oh for god sakes," he huffs, "How many times do I have to say that was an accident? She had her hair in a towel and they looked practically the same. Plus I mean, she was sitting on Ella's bed. I only kissed her. I was _trying_ to be spontaneous because Doctor Merrick said it might help to – _you know_ – spice things up, but I never intended to get the wrong person. I'm not _that_ much of an idiot."

"Coulda fooled me," Dean snorts in response. As Roman clears his throat again rapidly, Hurley stares daggers.

"So tell us more about your son and why you think he might be mixed up in this."

"Because," Hurley pouts, "He never forgave us for cutting him off from the family fund. He thinks we should fund his _ridiculous_ hobbies instead of sending him out to get himself a proper job. I mean, you should see some of the letters he's sent us. Here," Hurley pulls something out of his pants, which in spite of the personal tragedy he's going through are businessman style and immaculately pressed. He slams a piece of crumpled paper on the desktop, which Dean blinks down at. It appears to be a threat, scrawled in swirly but furious writing and peppered with warnings and spelling mistakes.

He snorts,

"_Ho_ yeah. _Dude_. This kid is freakin _angry_. Here," he passes it to Roman to read, even though all the big man does is skim through it and then pick out the main points.

_Regret crossing me._

_Wish you were dead._

Roman raises a hesitant eyebrow,

"And you really think Henry could have hurt his own mom?"

"I don't know," Christopher Hurley frowns back at him, beginning to rifle through his suit pants again before pulling out bundle of tightly wrapped fifties that almost make Dean's blue eyes bug out of his head. The older man pushes them over the desktop, "Which is what I need _you_ two to try and work out. So there, that's two thousand dollars to get started. Now for god sakes find out what happened to my wife."

* * *

**Hmm. The plot thickens. Next week, Dean meets Roman's wife and daughter, hope to see you there!**


	13. Thirteen

**Time to slow things down a little bit this week.**

**xXBalorBabeXx, Well, as always, everyone has their own story to tell and Henry's is going to be coming up soon. Which means you can either include him as a suspect, or rule him out. But first, I think we need a little bit of fluff…**

**Minnie1015, Ooh, I haven't gone back and reread Hard Time in ages. I forget what I've written sometimes! Not much more to add to the guessing game in this chapter, but I felt it was time I gave Dean something good :-)**

**Wolfgirl2013, Thank you!**

**Mandy, I'm so sorry to hear about your father. Cancer sucks in the worst possible way and being the relative looking on isn't easy. Sending big hugs. Hopefully this chapter with some nice family feels for Dean will help put a smile on your face. You deserve one.**

**Rebel8954, Ooh, you've come up with so many good theories! Not that I'm going to say if they're right though ;-) As for Seth, well, let's just say he isn't always as irritable as he likes to make out!**

**Not-that-kinda-gurl, Haha, yes! My plan is working! Plenty more confusion to come before this story is over, but for now, let's decompress a little bit (and let Dean have a night to get over being beaten up!)**

**LHisawesome4ever, Yep, except lots of cuteness and family vibes!**

**Skovko, Have you ever seen some of the old British Carry On comedy films? They are pretty much all about chasing women, getting things wrong/mixed up etc. Poor Christopher Hurley could be straight from one of those!**

**ViolentHugger03, Yep! But who doesn't love a big thick plot though?!**

**XwwecoyoteX, Not having the Shield boys together still breaks my heart. I loved them in the ring with each other, being all smiley and touchy *sigh* which is why I'll just have to keep the bromance alive here (even if Seth is a dog in this one. Puppy power!)**

**Phoenix lord of rebirth, I feel like Dean's in ring persona was born to be a PI really; a rule breaking good guy who does his own thing. And of course, Roman was born to keep him out of trouble and temper his crazy! They make the perfect team!**

**Dinner time...**

* * *

**THIRTEEN**

"But it was him, right?" Roman's wife frowns over the table as she swipes up their near enough _licked_ clean dinner plates. Or at least, Dean's plate is locked clean anyway, since it's been months since the last time he had eaten a home cooked meal. Or anything that hadn't come out of a packet. Or the hatch of a fast food joint, "It _has_ to be him, this Christopher Hurley, or whatever his name is. Who else _could_ it be?"

"The son, Henry," Roman suggests, "Or maybe the roommate that everyone keeps talking about. Jennifer something,"

"Boseman," Dean supplies, proving something which Roman is fast realizing. Namely that Dean has a great eye for detail but half the time can't remember to take care of himself or eat, which is part of the reason that when Hurley had left them, Roman had forced Dean to come back to his house and take him up on the offer of dinner, instead of staying at the office on his own and running the risk of getting beaten up again, which Roman is damn well determined to stop. Although admittedly the black eye had kind of startled his wife a bit when he and Dean had walked through the door. Not that she lets on with her pitch perfect hosting,

"So now, Dean sweetie, what can I get you for dessert? Blueberry pie or would you just like some coffee?"

Dean's eyes widen,

"Pie? Fu – uh, _fudge_, I mean. Pie please."

Roman's tiny daughter is knelt in the living room, wearing a crown and a pair of fairy wings and in definite earshot of the grownups at the table. Hence Dean's sudden desperation not to swear. Seth is perched like a Mayan god on the coffee table draped in Barbie clothing and with hair bobbles in his fur, which the beaming little girl has been adding all evening. Well, in between chatting to him and singing Disney songs. None of which the fiery little dog is _enjoying_ but – to his credit and as Dean had made him promise – he hasn't tried to growl or curl his lip at her once.

"But just for the record," Roman's wife calls from the kitchen, where she is pulling the precious pie out in a cloud of blueberry steam, "I really don't think this Henry kid could have done it. I mean, killing his own mother?"

Roman sits back with a grunt,

"I don't know," his stomach is full of Samoan chop suey and he feels almost weirdly contented for once, since pretty much everyone in life that he cares about is sat under one roof. Well, except Brock and maybe even Carl the pigeon, "You didn't see some of those letters he wrote."

"He's angry," she reasons, coming back across the dining room and then slapping his hand as he reaches for the cream, before handing it over to their guest for the evening along with a piled high bowl of dessert. Dean shoots her a not so subtle wink across the rim of it,

"_Fudge_. You know, if you ever get tired of uce, I would marry you in like, a freakin' heartbeat."

"Sorry babe," Roman grins at him, pulling her close, "She's all mine. Except for when she makes us go and stay with her mother, because then you can have her."

"_Hey_," his wife slaps his chest and then drops down into her seat at the table, where she curls her feet up underneath her like a cat and picks her mug of peppermint tea up, "So, tell me more about this Henry guy. What does he do since he got disinherited?"

"Nothin'," Dean snorts around mouthful of pie, before briefly losing his focus in ecstasy, "Oh fudgin' fudge. Ho _man_ this is good."

"Thank you."

"He runs a conspiracy website," Roman fills in for her as Dean takes another bite, "Nine eleven. The moon landing. The pyramids. You name it, he believes it."

His wife grins,

"Bigfoot as well?"

"Yeah, but that's like, _totally_ real though," Dean informs them spitting crust everywhere.

Roman's sweet wife grins back in his direction,

"Good to know," then turns to clap her hands, trying hard to signal their daughter who is draping some long plastic beads around Seth, presumably to bring out the whites of his eyeballs which are locked tight on Dean as if to say, _can we leave_? "Okay baby. Time's up. It's a school night, which means that we need to get _you_ into bed."

In response the little girl's eyes turn orb-like,

"But momma, me and Seth were going to play mermaids next."

Roman can swear he hears the dog sighing, but his wife however remains unmoved,

"Sorry kid, but mermaids will just have to wait until next time. Now come along baby, say goodnight to Seth."

"Goodnight Seth," the little girl pouts at him, before leaning in close to hiss into his furry ear, "Ugh. My mom never lets me do _anything_."

Roman snorts but turns it into a cough noise as his wife lifts a brow at him,

"And what are _you_ laughing about?"

Roman bangs his chest and then clears his throat loudly,

"Who me? Uh, nothing. I had a tickle."

"Uh huh."

"Night night papa," their daughter huffs super dramatically, slouching across the room like her feet are made of lead, in six year old protest at her inhumane treatment.

Roman pats her tush,

"I'll be up in a minute baby girl, so now why don't you go up and pick out a story?"

His kid bites her lip,

"Can Mr Dean read it to me?"

"Huh?"

The man himself jerks up from his cleared dessert bowl with a blueberry smeared finger wedged inside his mouth and a look of total bafflement on his features,

Roman grins at him,

"Of course he can. Right babe?"

"Fu – uh, fudge," Dean plucks loose his finger and then wipes it on his shirt front, "Uh, I mean, sure. I _guess_."

"Yay," the little girl does a guinea pig popcorn and then grabs his hand, "You have to come and see my room. It's really cool because it's pink and has unicorns _and_ I have a nightlight to keep the monsters out."

"Uh, uce?" Dean blinks as he's dragged from the living room looking panicked,

"Be right there babe," Roman grins back, as Seth pads over trying to shake the Barbie cape off and the bangles and the beads. Roman's wife bends down to help and then smiles up at her husband,

"I like him."

"You mean Seth?"

"I _mean_ Dean," she grins, "He's like an awkward child-man. _Plus_ he seems to care about you a lot, which makes me feel better about this Ella Hurley thing and the fact that the two of you are trying to track down a murderer."

Roman shrugs,

"Well I'm not. I'm just the secretary here."

"_Office manager_," his wife corrects absently, peeling the last of the pearl strings off Seth, who shakes himself and then snorts for good measure, "So does that mean that you _didn't_ go to Blue Skies with Dean? Or that you _weren't_ in his car when that woman was murdered?"

He opens his mouth,

"Uh – ,"

"Roman Joseph Reigns. You'd better not be about to lie to me right now."

Her hands are on her hips, which is not a good sign and her eyebrow is raised so high above her lashes that it's practically buried up into her hair. Seth drops his tail and creeps closer to Roman who scoops him up to soothe him. Or to use as a shield. He puts his hand up,

"Okay, I'll admit it. I _might_ have been out with him a couple of times," not a lie, "But _only_ because uce doesn't have backup and I was worried about him. I mean, you saw his eye. Ambrose needs someone to have his back out there."

His wife sighs,

"Ugh. But does it have to be you?" coming in closer she pulls him towards her so that his big shaggy head is buried into her chest with her hands in his hair as he loops his arms around her, "I mean, what if those same people come after _you_?"

"They won't," he rumbles, "Because I'm not the detective here. I'm just the office manager, remember?"

"Best one in town," his wife smiles back, before murmuring into his hairline, "Just make sure that you're careful okay? And if it gets too freaky or dangerous, just promise me, _promise me_ that you'll pull out."

"It's a fair enough ask and so he nods,

"I promise babe."

"Good," she leans down to kiss him sweetly on the lips, then pokes his shoulder and points at the hallway, "Now go make sure our kid isn't scaring Dean."

Because their daughter's room is right opposite the staircase Roman can hear her before he hits the first floor. Or rather he can hear his daughter _and_ his employer, the latter of whom sounds completely confused as he clearly grapples with a difficult concept,

"So, this _Barry_ kid is like a wizard or somethin', right?"

Roman hears his daughter snort,

"_Harry_ Potter."

Dean grunts,

"Oh, Harry. I mean, that's what I said, an' like why is he livin' under the stairs in some _closet_?"

"_Because_," his charge huffs in long suffering tones, "His uncle and auntie are really, really mean to him. But, it's okay in the end Mr Dean, because Hagrid comes and rescues him out of there _and_ he buys him an owl."

Roman peeks around the door. His daughter is sitting tucked up beneath her bedsheets, busy scrabbling through the book that is perched on Dean's lap, from where he is sat on the edge of the mattress looking bewildered,

"He buys him a _what_?"

"Here," the little girl chirps, ignoring him as she tracks down the page Roman had got to the night before and then brushing some of her staticky long brown hair back, "Read from here."

"Well, alright," Dean still looks slightly dubious about it, "But if you get nightmares then don't blame me."

She shrugs,

"I won't."

"Now, let's see here," he creases the book backwards and then clears his throat loudly several times, before launching uncertainly into the story with the frown of a man who hasn't read to kids before.

Actually it's pretty adorable.

"There were a hundred and forty two staircases at Hogwarts – holy fu-_fudge_. That's a whole lotta stairs,"

Roman stifles a grin in the doorway and then watches as his daughter blinks sleepily,

"Mr Dean – ,"

"Alright, alright. Where were we? Oh, got it. Like, big wide sweepin' ones, real freakin' _narrow_ ones, some that lead somewhere different on a Friday? Huh?"

Roman's daughter blinks sleepily a second time. It has been a long day between school and their guest, not to mention her having played with Seth for hours and hours. Wriggling from his arms the tiny pooch pads in silently and then makes himself comfy on the unicorn quilt, tucking himself up right next to Roman's daughter and then shutting his eyes as she gently twirls his fur. She's sucking her thumb which means she's nearly a goner.

"Some with a vanishin' step halfway up 'em an' – ,"

"Babe?"

"Huh?" Dean looks up mid-breath, seeming startled to see his office manager in the doorway, grinning like an idiot.

Roman points,

"I think you're good."

The tiny little girl has turned out like a lightbulb and so for that matter evidently has Seth.

"Oh," Dean shuts the book super carefully then levers off the bed like he's trying to diffuse a bomb. Or ducking through lasers like in that Catherine Zeta Jones film he'd been singing about randomly earlier on in the day. Which works pretty well until he steps on a Barbie and crashes extra hard into a bookcase,

"Ho crap."

Across in the bed Roman's daughter stirs mildly and Seth curls his lip, although they both stay asleep. Dean looks up and then scratches his hair sheepishly,

"_Fudge_, that was close."

"Nah, don't worry about it babe. Because _that_ kid could sleep through a nuclear fallout," he winks at his employer, "She takes after her old man."

Dean looks down,

"Uh, thanks for havin' me round uce. Been nice to be like, part of a real family for once. Hope, uh, I didn't like, show you up too much."

Roman smiles fondly,

"Nah. You could never do that. Plus it helps you called my wife the best cook in the universe."

"Dude," Dean gapes back at him wide eyed, "She freakin' _is_. Because that like, Samoan chop suey? Holy cow man."

"Then I guess I'd better bring some tomorrow for lunch."

Dean's face lights up,

"So you're like, comin' back then? Your wife didn't see the black eye an' make you quit? Or like, not want you workin' with a crazy private detective?"

Roman rubs a hand through the smaller man's hair, then fights the urge to find out who told him he was crazy and grab them and make them die a slow and painful death. In the though, end he simply tousles him harder and then snorts,

"Damn straight babe, we got a murder to solve."

He just hopes that he never has to choose between solving it and putting his wife and his baby girl first.

* * *

**Next week we return to our scheduled viewing as the boys get back on the case. Next stop: Henry Hurley.**


	14. Fourteen

**It's Thursday, so you know what that means. Let's do this thing!**

**Skovko, But puppy Seth in a tiara and beads looks soooo pretty! Plus, I don't think he hates it quite as much as he makes out!**

**xXBalorBabeXx, Happy (late) Thanksgiving to you too. Hope you had a good one.**

**Rebel8954, I get the feeling that being on his best behaviour was more stressful for Dean than Seth! As for the conspiracy website, well, let's just say the next chapter is full of believers…**

**Mandy, Oh wow. Your friend is so lucky getting a picture of Mox (Dean. Deep down he'll probably always be Dean to me!) I couldn't resist the throwback to their Ride Along. Might have to go back and watch it again too. Big hugs.**

**Minnie1015, Aww, I'm thankful for our friendship too and I'm glad the last chapter was a nice cosy one for Thanksgiving. That worked out well, because this one is a little bit more gross in parts!**

**Phoenix lord of rebirth, Happy Thanksgiving to you too (sorry I'm a week late on that!) Glad you liked the last one. It's always nice to change it down a gear and have an easy, fun chapter from time to time. Plus Dean really did need to meet the rest of the Reigns fam. But this week they're definitely back to the case.**

**Wolfgirl2013, Thank you!**

**Not-that-kinda-gurl, Lots and lots of cuteness for you on the last one, but I felt it was about time for some. Plus I mostly loved the idea of Seth being dressed up and looking pissed about it. Hence that last chapter was born!**

**Okay...**

* * *

**FOURTEEN**

Henry Hurley lives in a building on the east side that is so damn derelict it makes the brownstone look swish. Since at least the brownstone has _most_ of its windows and steps to the front door and an _actual_ front door. Instead of just the hinges where a front door had been once and a guy smoking pot on the doorstep outside, who frowns suspiciously at Roman's blue pinstripe.

"Hey man. You a fed? Is this some kinda raid? Because here we don't subscribe to your capitalist system."

Roman blinks at him,

"Huh?"

"No dude. Nope. Not a raid. Stripes over here just has a real eye for fashion," Dean chirps hurriedly, pushing Roman back as the stoner blinks deliberately at them like he thinks they might be lying. Then he leans closer,

"They're everywhere man," he waves his hand around in the ether which scatters half the contents of his disintegrating blunt. Not that the guy much seems to take notice. He taps at his head, "Sometimes even in _here_."

"Yeah, well," Dean wafts some pot smoke away from him, "Thanks for the tip dude. We'll keep it in mind. But right now we're kinda here lookin' for someone. You seen this guy?" he pulls a photograph out which is one of the ones Christopher Hurley had given them, along with his oddball offspring's last known address, which had led them first to a slightly rundown building, then a _more_ rundown building and then finally there. A glorified squat in the asshole of Cinci, asking potheads for help.

The stoner blinks at it,

"Ho man. Is that _Gunhawk_?"

Dean blinks in bewilderment,

"Uh, is that _who_ now?"

"His name is Henry Hurley," Roman adds helpfully, "He runs a conspiracy website. Is he in? Because we need to speak to him about something pretty urgently."

"Are you running from the man too?" the pothead asks them, wide eyed with wonder like he thinks he's stumbled into The Matrix. Dean decides it's best to go along with it. Or maybe not, but on the plus side it makes things more fun,

"Uh, yeah dude. You got us," he slings his arm around Roman and then slaps the big man's chest, "This one escaped from a secret lab. He's a super soldier that the uh, _man_ is breedin', an' we need your buddy to help us take 'em down."

Roman frowns,

"What?"

"Just go along with it," Dean hisses, digging an elbow into his ribs as the pothead blinks incredulously at the big man, whose footballing physique is certainly super soldier _like_. He takes another quick drag on his blizzie and then nods energetically,

"Sure man, sure. He's upstairs. Second floor. In the media room,"

"Hold on a second. You have a freakin' _media room_ here?" Dean frowns, as Roman clears his throat pointedly behind him,

"Babe?"

"Oh, right. Fuck. Uh, I mean _thanks_ man."

As Roman goes to step past the baffled stoner – who Dean figures is probably only twenty years, old but who looks _way_ older thanks to all of his beard growth – the kid snakes out a hand and grabs the big guy's arm, planting a grubby looking print on the pinstripe and then nodding in admiration.

"You were brave to get away. We need more people like you to win the war man."

"Uh, thanks," Roman grimaces as Dean peels off the guy's hand and then steers his partner ahead through the doorway with a small parting bow,

"Mazel tov. Down with the man," then he steps in over the threshold and straight into a waiting pile of vomit, "Oh come _on_."

Because somehow the inside is even worse than the outside, with most of the floorboards either broken or ripped up and with graffiti and other assorted – well – _substances_ daubed haphazardly over the walls.

"Holy crap. Makes the brownstone look like The Ritz, huh?" Dean comments cheerfully, wiping his shoes on a stamped down box that may or may not be some poor fucker's bedspread, "Bet you're glad you wore your suit uce."

Roman shoots him a raised-brow look, but otherwise seems to be surprisingly even for a man who has probably just entered his first squat,

"Babe, how about we find Henry Hurley and then get the hell out of here?"

Or maybe _not_ so even as it turns out.

Dean nods,

"Deal."

Stepping over a sleeping girl and a soiled looking mattress, Dean leads the way up the rickety stairs, which remind him of the ones he was reading about last night to Roman's daughter, since the treads are either warping or else are straight up freaking _gone_, which _could_ be some weird kind of stick-it-to-the-man crap, or else because in the winter it gets super cold and the residents are all out of freshly chopped firewood. At one point his foot disappears through one completely, but luckily Roman grabs at him.

"Babe you okay?"

"Yeah," Dean looks back over his shoulder, "But this is – dude are you usin' a _handkerchief_?"

Roman shrugs back up at him cluelessly. But, yep, sure enough he has a handkerchief beneath his hand, which he's using to create a cotton barrier to the handrail, which is actually kind of genius.

"You stood in _puke_ babe."

"Fair enough, but the _next_ time we go a rundown freakin' buildin' full of weird fuckin' hippies, you might wanna bring two."

Roman grunts,

"Nope because the _next_ time we go to a rundown freaking building full of weird fucking hippies, this suited ass is staying put in the car."

"Wimp." Dean mutters resentfully,

"What was that babe?"

"Nothin'. I said uh, let's go find this kid."

He still has the photograph Hurley had given them clutched in his fingers, although it won't be much use if the stoner's reaction had been anything to go by and which means they climb up to the second floor blind, scanning every face for one that _could_ be Hurley and therefore their killer. Or the mastermind at least, since he would have needed help jumping Dean in the dog park. Which makes everyone a suspect.

Roman grabs him,

"Babe, look."

A youngish looking man is crossing over the hallway in a pair of espadrilles that don't exactly look cheap and with long wavy hair from straight out of a commercial. Dean opens the crumpled photograph,

"Holy shit. You think it's him?"

Roman shrugs, keeping his deep voice low in the empty corridor which bounces the sound back like he's brought a megaphone,

"You tell me."

"I mean, it freakin' _could_ be."

The guy disappears behind an old piece of sheeting which has been hung up above _another_ door-less door and Dean nods,

"Fuck. Okay, let's get him. Like we talked about, remember?"

He pulls out his gun, which up until now has been hidden in his waistband but is about to prove its worth. It's a small looking thing, with a short silver barrel and a snug wooden hand grip that has always looked badass on the few times he's needed it to. Stepping up to the doorway he flattens against it and then watches as Roman does the same on the other side.

"Ready?" he mouths. His partner nods back at him and so he holds up his fingers in a countdown –

Three, two, _one._

Together they both blast in through the sheeting, shouting, which scares the living crap out of the guy inside, who is sat in front of a bank of computers in what has to be the hovel's apparent _media room_.

"Gig's up Henry," Dean barks over the gun barrel, "We know what you did."

"I – I'm not Henry," the guy cries.

At some point he has slid from his seat at the desktop onto his knees and put his hands in the air.

Dean blinks,

"You're what?"

"I'm not Henry Hurley," the man splutters desperately, "I'm Lewis. Lewis Hughes. I'm Henry's friend. He's — he's not here at the moment. He went out this morning. I don't know where. Please don't shoot me. I have so much to live for."

As a cold gust of wind blows in through the blackouts that have covered the windowless windows on three sides, Dean gets a glimpse of a pair of round glasses and a mole on the guy's cheek that their wacky suspect doesn't have and then sort of seems to _deflate_ just a little.

He lowers the gun

"Oh. Fuck. Sorry about that."

In response to the barrel being pointed away from him, the bespectacled man looks up with a frown and then seems to gather a semblance of ballsiness, which probably isn't smart.

"Now who the hell are you guys and what are you doing looking for Gunhawk?"

"Gunhawk," Dean snorts in derision. Yeah, okay.

"Because if you _feds_ think you can just come waltzing in here, pointing guns at people then – ,"

"Hey, relax dude," Dean chirps back st him, sauntering closer to peer at the computers and then pulling the trigger on the tiny handgun. A flame pops out of the end, "It's a _lighter_. An' for the _second_ freakin' time since we turned up here, we're not feds."

The guy blinks,

"You're not? Well then who the hell are you?"

"We could ask _you_ the same thing," Roman grunts back, stepping in close so that the guy skitters backwards and bumps into the desktop.

"I already told you. I'm Lewis Hughes. I help Gunhawk – I mean, _Henry_ – run Truthfinders, which – hey, get away from that."

Dean has moved across the room and is fiddling with a camera propped up on a tripod with a green sheet behind it. The filming door is opened wide and so Dean hits the playback and then raises an eyebrow as Lewis appears on the screen wearing a mask.

"_These photos, which we will release on Monday, prove that not only were the moon landings made up, but that there is an alien space station on the moon which we believe is a gateway to another dimension and furthermore_ – ,"

Lewis launches himself across the room and turns it back off with a whole lot of fumbling before pushing up his glasses,

"Look, what do you _want_?"

"We want to talk to Henry Hurley about his mother," Roman growls evenly.

Lewis blinks,

"Oh, _that_. Yes, that came as a real shock to Henry – uh, I mean Gunhawk – he hasn't been himself since. That's why I've taken over the videos."

"Not himself _how_?"

Lewis shrugs,

"I don't know. Just kind of shifty, erratic, kind of angry. I mean, he threw a keyboard out of the window the other day. Plus he nearly smashed up our camera and those things are expensive. That one cost a thousand bucks."

Roman peers back at him looking deeply unimpressed,

"Do the people who live here know you have all this fancy equipment lying around?"

Lewis shrugs,

"Some of them. But we're not a bunch of squatters. This building is for intelligent, like-minded folk, who don't stand for injustice or social inequality and who don't follow – ,"

"_The man_," Dean grumbles, "We know."

In the meantime he has moved over to the window, beneath which a rumpled sleeping bag is laid out, with a moth eaten sketchbook pushed underneath it.

He pulls it out,

"Hey," Lewis Hughes steps forward again, but Roman puts a fist on his breastbone to keep him in place like a bouncer at a club and yep, Dean _really_ likes having uce with him. He flicks open the sketchbook, "You can't look at that. It's private. And by the way, you haven't said who you are yet. Because this is a violation – ,"

Roman grunts at him,

"Shut up."

"Uce," Dean blinks in alarm, "You better see this."

Turning around he lets the pages fall open so that his partner can see in the flapping sheet-based light and can read what is scrawled over every last inch of paper.

Page after page of it.

_Ella and Christopher must die_.

* * *

**Thoughts?**


	15. Fifteen

**Here comes Chapter 15 then folks…**

**Rebel8954, So does that mean Henry is off your suspects list then? Hopefully this chapter will give you a little more insight into his character. Or does it?**

**xXBalorBabexX, Well, the good news (or the bad news?) is that we might get more of a clue about Henry in this instalment.**

**Mandy, Thanks for your thoughts. Got some bad news about mum's cancer this week, but hopefully there's still something the doctors can do. Glad you're still liking the story. I do love writing the banter between Dean and Roman. Just wish we could get some more of the good times between them in real life!**

**Wolfgirl2013, Aww, I'm so glad you like it.**

**Cheryl24, And there's still a ways to go on this roller coaster mystery ride!**

**Skovko, Ah, so you're not so keen to blame Henry then? Well, see what you think after this chapter. This might swing your vote harder towards 'innocent' or the other way completely…**

**ViolentHugger03, I see these chapters as more like scenes from a murder mystery programme: short and sweet! Glad you're loving it though. I'm really enjoying watching you guys see it unfold though!**

**Minnie1015, Haha, well, some people are sort of not too far away, but no one has developed the full theory yet (thank goodness!) Also, I'm going to give you all another insight into Henry here, so you can either add him or cross him off the list of suspects!**

**LunaticMischief, Hope your exams all went well, I'll keep fingers and toes crossed for you. Glad you're enjoying my crazy little story and never fear, I will definitely try to make it better and better!**

**Phoenix lord of rebirth, Nothing like a good head scratcher on a cold winter night though, huh? (Asks desperately). Got a few more mysteries and twists coming up before the end, but hopefully they'll be good ones!**

**Once more unto the breach…**

* * *

**FIFTEEN**

They use Roman's handkerchief to wrap up the sketch book, then take it away with them in spite of Lewis Hughes complaints, since it seems like the closest damn thing they have to evidence and since Hurley himself seems to have magically disappeared. Which means that the idiot now known as freaking _Gunhawk_ is their number one suspect.

"So okay, here's the deal," Dean grunts, the sketchbook tucked under his elbow as he climbs the rickety but solid steps of his brownstone home, "Henry Hurley befriends his mom's roommate an' gets her to pose as Ella for our meeting in the park. _Then_ stages the hangin' to get her back for the whole _will_ deal."

"And from the looks of that sketchbook, then goes after his old man," Roman adds from a half step behind him, before stopping as Sunny comes out of her room and then leans herself super seductively in the doorway,

"Hey fellers, you look bushed, need a little pick me up? Free of charge."

"No thanks Sunny," Dean grins at her, as behind him Roman turns a shade of beetroot red, since one week of being propositioned by a hooker isn't nearly enough time to have gotten used to it yet, "We're kinda busy right now. But hey, maybe later."

He's kidding though and she knows it.

Probably.

"Sure thing Dean," she winks, "Oh and by the way, a guy came in asking for you. I sent him up to your office."

"What did he look like?" Dean stops, because in between trying to track down a freaking _murderer_ and being beaten up, he's feeling slightly on edge. Roman knocks into his back and then grumbles as Sunny shrugs,

"I dunno. Short hair, kinda smart, looks like he's probably got a whole lot of money. Seemed to know who you were."

"Christopher Hurley," Roman groans, "Probably trying to find where his two grand has got him."

"Either that or he's come by to try an' get it back," Dean snorts wryly, rubbing a hand across his neck line, "Maybe to put it behind the bar for the big funeral."

"Maybe babe."

They know that the funeral is being held the next morning because the papers have been screaming it as the headline all day long, with candids of the billionaire widow busy shopping for coffins and picking out flowers and generally looking sad. According to _The Herald _Ella is being interred in Spring Grove cemetery, where multiple Hurley's have been laid to rest, even though she isn't a Hurley and her son may have killed her. Or her husband. Or _both_.

Dean rolls his eyes,

"Think we should mention the notebook?"

Roman winces,

"How 'bout we see what he wants, then make a judgement call about that one?"

Dean nods,

"Right. Uh, yeah. Good idea."

"Sunny," Roman grins at her, "Always a pleasure."

"Maybe one day it will be," she winks in response, before sauntering back into her office with a hip swing and a flash of her underwear.

"You know what I _think_ she kinda likes you," Dean beams, as the red faced Samoan gives him a shove up the staircase and then shrugs off his shyness,

"Hey, I'm a lovable kind of guy."

Rounding the corner clamping hard to the sketchbook as he fishes around in his pocket for his keys, Dean expects to come face to face with Mr Hurley. Which he does, except it's not the Mr Hurley he expects, since instead the guy who scrambles up from the floor to greet them is much younger and chunkier and kind of familiar.

"Holy shit," juggling the sketch pad and his keys, he grabs the photo and then blinks at the newcomer.

The murderer has come to them.

"Henry? Henry Hurley?" Roman blinks from beside him, seeming as surprised as his scruffy haired partner. The guy swipes his hands off,

"Actually, I call myself Gunhawk now. Henry is dead."

"Yeah," Dean snorts, "An' he's not the freakin' only one."

He's feeling kind of twitchy stood face to face with him, because as far as he's concerned the guy is suspect number one. A conspiracy theorist nutbag who has maybe murdered his own mother and beaten Dean up in the middle of the night. The PI narrows his eyes. Does it sound like him? The guy who'd warned him off?

"Dean," Roman hisses as Henry slumps, or as _Gunhawk_ slumps, which no way is Dean calling him because it sounds freaking stupid.

"You mean," he hiccups, "You mean my mom. I know, I read – I read about it in the papers."

"Wait, you mean your dad didn't tell you?" Roman frowns,

Henry snorts bitterly at them,

"Who, you mean _Christopher_? Of course he didn't. He hates me. He cut me out of his will because he thinks me trying to expose the truth about our government is – ," he air quotes the next part, "_Not a good use of my time_."

Roman blinks,

"But I thought your _mom_ cut your inheritance?"

Henry shuffles awkwardly,

"Yeah, but only because of him. My father turned my mother against me."

"So is that why you killed her?" Dean drawls back, getting a little tired of the kid's surly attitude, not to mention the great big trumpeting Asian elephant in the room. Plus interrogation has never really been his strong suit.

Roman drops his head into his hand with a groan as Henry Hurley goes near supersonic, which is kind of impressive for a man of his girth.

"_What_? No. I could never – I mean, I couldn't I – ,"

"Hey," their neighbor pokes his head out again, just like he had done two days earlier when _Mr_ Hurley had been there, "Are you two guys _kidding_ me?"

"Uh, babe? The door?" Roman nods towards their office as Dean rejuggles the notepad photograph and keys,

"Alright alright. Simmer down dude, I'm goin'."

Henry Hurley blinks at him,

"Um, is that my sketchbook?"

Not that he has a lot of time to consider it, since the second the door is open Seth and Brock come bounding out, growling and flinging long drool trails respectively, but both of whom make poor Henry back up and then leap almost bodily behind Roman, like some kind of human shield.

"Oh my god. Oh my god. Not dogs, get them off me are – are they angry?"

Dean frowns,

"What? No. Of course they're not dude," except, okay, so maybe Seth _is_ growling. Dean bends down and scoops the mutt up, as Roman steers them all into the office and then boots the door shut, "How the hell can you not like dogs?"

Henry shrugs,

"I don't know. We just never had them and my mom was – ,"

"Afraid of them," Roman finishes gently, "We know."

Henry has sunk down onto the sofa and in the light of the office he looks, well, _young_, which is probably because he is _and_ because he's lost a parent. Which may or may not be his doing.

Dean opens the notebook,

"Remember this?"

Pages of bile and scribble fall open and Henry's eyes widen,

"It _is_ my sketchpad. Holy crap," he looks bewildered, "Where – where did you get that?"

"From a lovely little squat that's freakin' covered in vomit where we found your friend Lewis Hughes," Dean grumbles back, since he's pretty damn sure he's going to have to wash his work boots to get the puke smell out, "He says hi by the way."

"But you don't understand. I was angry when I wrote that. I didn't really mean it and why the hell were you at my place?"

The fact he calls the squat a _place_ is definitely not lost on Dean, who snorts and then begins to mutter so darkly that Roman takes over. Which is probably best.

"Your old man came to pay us a little visit. Said he thought you might have something to do with Ella's death."

"He what? Why that no good son of a – ," Henry breaks off and then shoves his fist clean into his mouth, which Dean guesses is better than slapping his own face off. Maybe _he'll_ have to try the whole eating himself thing. He lets out a grunt and Seth grumbles at him, which makes him pull his fist back.

Dean pets him,

"Good boy."

"He killed her," Henry pants, his face gone near purple, "_That'_s what I wanted to tell you. My father killed my mom."

Roman blinks,

"Hold on here. How did you even know we were looking into it?"

"Batista," Henry shrugs, "My dad's security guard. He lets me know what my – _Christopher_ is up to and he said you came around asking him questions about mom and telling him you didn't think Ell – my _mom_ – killed herself, which is why I came over here. Because neither do I."

Roman lifts a brow,

"And you think you father did it?"

"Yes," Henry nods.

Dean sighs,

"You know what uce, m' startin' to get like, real freakin' tired of men from the Hurley family turnin' up at my door an' tryin' to rat out _other_ members of the Hurley family. It's makin' my head hurt."

"Me too babe, me too."

"But you _have_ to believe me," Henry gapes brokenly, "My dad Christopher has been having cash flow issues for months. He made a bad investment a couple of years back and he's struggling with creditors."

He pulls out a photo,

"Look."

The grainy looking image shows a couple of bailiffs hoisting a cherry red velour sofa from a house, which looks a lot like the palatial Hurley mansion they had snuck into a few days back. Which is probably because it is, since the next shot shows Christopher clad in a silk dressing gown arguing with them.

"See?" Henry asserts, flipping through more shots until Roman takes them from him to look at them himself, "He's desperate for cash and here's the kicker, my mom had life insurance, meaning if she ever died my dad – I mean _Christopher_ – gets paid big. Although of course, he would never sign one for his own life. _That's_ how I know he did it."

"Where did you get these?" Roman frowns.

Henry shrugs back at him, super evasively,

"I run a conspiracy website. I can get anything."

"So wait a minute," Dean blinks. He's getting a migraine or possibly a stroke, "What about The Global Fund? Or whatever the fuck the name of that thing was. I thought the blonde from reception said that Hurley was payin' out?"

"Which he'd be able to do if the life insurance came through, all while playing the doting husband," Roman points out.

Henry sits up,

"So does this mean you believe me?"

Dean looks at Roman and Roman looks back,

"No," the PI grunts, "But it does mean freakin' _one_ thing. We need to find the roommate."

Roman nods back at him,

"Amen to that."

* * *

**Next week, we meet a new character. Don't say I didn't warn you!**


	16. Sixteen

**So this chapter came completely out of nowhere and can I just say I'm glad it did. Hope you all like the new character and brace yourself, I'm throwing in a twist (although don't worry, it's more of a cameo than anything!)**

**Rebel8954, Well, don't worry about working out anymore clues this week, because my Christmas present to you is a bit of a diversion chapter (P.S. Dean is also super confused by everything, so I'm giving him a break too!) Hope you like it…**

**xXBalorBabeXx, Thank you. I hope so too! Also, there might be something you didn't expect in this chapter!**

**Wolfgirl2013, Thank you!**

**Cheryl24, Haha, it is going to be an awkward Hurley Christmas...and just think, we don't even know who did it yet. It could get even more awkward before we finish!**

**Mandy, How did your interview go? I kept everything crossed for you! No real plans for Christmas. Maybe go round to family, or maybe just a quiet one at home. I can't believe it's almost Christmas already. I hope you have a wonderful time whether you manage to travel for it or not. You certainly deserve a nice break.**

**Phoenix lord of rebirth, Well, you ask for the roommate and so I shall deliver...well, sort of. At least we get a step closer to finding her, so hopefully that is nearly the same thing!**

**Guest, Aww, thank you so much. I'm glad you're enjoying it!**

**Skovko, Agreed, Roman's family seems so much more fun, especially now they've adopted Dean into it. Because who wouldn't want their very own Dean (complete with Seth the dog of course!)**

**ViolentHugger03, Well, I'm giving you and Dean a chance to get over your headaches in this chapter. Because I've got something kind of different lined up instead. Hope you like this next bit of crazy!**

**XwwecoyoteX, Haha, I loved your comments about 'The Man,' yep, Seth wouldn't have liked those at all (although then again, he doesn't like much in this story. Apart from food and growling at people...and Roman's daughter secretly!) Glad you're all caught up and I'm loving reading your theories...which of course, I can neither confirm or deny!**

**Not-that-kinda-gurl, Aww, thank you. I do love throwing in some twists and turns, but there are a lot of them here even for me! And this week is definitely no exception, although this is a good twist (or at least, I hope it is!)**

**LunaticMischief, So glad you're excited for this chapter. Here it is! **

**Minnie1015, Saving the best for last indeed! Aww, I haven't played Cluedo in years. Loved that game! Also, I have good news, there is no guessing needed in this chapter, so just sit back and enjoy the ride. It's kind of wild!**

**Right then, let's get to it... **

* * *

**SIXTEEN**

"Freakin' honestly?" Dean huffs, "I don't know _what_ to believe at this point. I mean, first we think it's Christopher Hurley. Then we don't, an' now we freakin' _do_. Because, he's totally got the best motive."

Roman shrugs,

"I don't know about that babe. I wouldn't count out Henry at this point and especially not with what he wrote in that book."

"Okay," Dean blinks, "So I admit that looks sketchy, but can you seriously picture freakin' _Tomahawk_ – ,"

"Gunhawk."

"Freakin' _Gunhawk_ havin' the brains to pull this off? I mean the guy lives in a squat an' runs some crappy freakin' website that only gets like, two hundred hits a month. An' besides, you saw him when Brock came runnin' out at him. I mean, his butthole basically closed up. So he _couldn't_ have been the guy that attacked me."

"Unless he's scared of dogs _because_ Seth bit him when he did?"

At the _closed butthole_ soundbite the woman in front of them in line at the DMV turns their way and clucks her tongue, in a not so subtle sort of _please mind your language_ that Dean doesn't pick up on.

Not even remotely it seems.

"Fuck. How come it's never this hard in the freakin' movies? I mean, you _always_ know who the bad guy is there, 'cos he's always givin' evil looks to the camera, or the freakin' music changes, or he's the Spiderman dude."

Roman blinks,

"You mean Willem Defoe babe?"

"_That's_ his name. Fuck."

The woman in front of them turns again, her eyes ablaze with soccer mom fury, at which point the scruffy blonde seems to notice she's there, since he nods his head politely and then grins back at her, misjudging the mood almost totally.

"Hey."

"_Hmph_," she grunts, flipping her head around again so fast that her ponytail flicks in his eye, which frankly doesn't help the whole getting him _not_ to swear thing, since it makes him even louder and _more _sweary.

"Ow. Fuck. What the hell is _her_ freakin' problem?"

Roman pats him on the shoulder,

"Nothing babe. Although maybe you could _try_ and kinda tone down the cussing."

Dean blinks back at him,

"What cussing?"

"Never mind."

As the line in front of them mercifully moves forward, the woman peels off to pass her glare to the staff, leaving them first in line for a window, although how long that will take is anyone's guess, considering the fact that is has recently gone lunchtime and all of the local offices have emptied for the hour, which means the DMV is packed out with people; from men in nice business suits checking their watches, to bitchy blonde woman huffing and flicking their hair

In total it has been almost thirty five minutes since Henry Hurley had schlepped out of the office back to his squat, sniffing and blubbering but minus his notebook, and forty _five_ minutes since Dean had track the roommate down. Which is why the fact that they are stood in a DMV queue, had caught kind of caught Roman a little by surprise and which is _also_ why he clears his throat beneath the hubbub and the background chat of voices,

"Uh, babe? What are we doing here? I mean, is this something to do with the case or – ,"

Dean grins worryingly,

"You'll see uce. You'll see."

As the automated voice announces cashier five is open, Roman steps towards it only to find himself pulled back, as Dean turns instead to the businessman behind them and then waves him ahead,

"Uh, go on man. You first."

"Ambrose, what the hell – ,"

"_Shush_," his partner hisses back at him, keeping his eye on a window to the left, where a large looking woman with curly hair and glasses is instructing a man how to fill out a lengthy form. Glancing up she notices Dean staring back at her and her whole face lights up.

"Who's she?" Roman asks, as the woman promptly snatches the form from her client and starts to fill it out herself, keen to speed things along evidently. She wiggles her fingers over the top of her ballpoint and Dean wiggles back, not looking at Roman.

"My wife."

"Your _what_?" Roman bellows, so loudly in response to him that everyone in line and in the windows look up.

Dean frowns,

"_Dude_. You want everyone to hear you? Oh, go right ahead man," he tacks on the end, as yet _another_ cashier becomes open, but not the one he wants. Someone else steps ahead, as Roman stands gaping like a god damn goldfish. Although not shouting this time.

"Did you say your _wife_?"

"Yeah," Dean shrugs, before pausing, "I mean, _sorta_. She's Polish. She needed someone to marry her for a card, an' I was – you know – kinda desperate for money, an' she was offerin' so – ,"

He shrugs a second time, as the woman flings the filled out form at her customer and then slams her palm down on the button.

_Window number four._

"Bingo," Dean steps forward grinning,

"So you committed marriage fraud?" Roman hisses beneath his breath,

"Hey," Dean frowns, "Don't cheapen my wedding. It was a lovely ceremony. The officiant cried, an' besides, why shouldn't Agnieszka be allowed here just because her former husband is in the European Mob?"

Roman blinks,

"The European _what now_?"

But there is no time to elaborate since the pair are at the desk and Dean has already thrown his arms wide towards her and painted on a smile,

"_There's_ my dumpling."

"Poopsie pie."

Leaning herself in across the counter, the woman drags Dean headfirst into her very large chest, like perhaps she's trying to kill him or something, since judging by his hand flails he can't actually breathe.

Roman watches it doubtfully,

"You okay babe?"

The private eye sticks up a thumb in response, although by the time the woman finally lets go of him, he's red and panting and his hair is mussed.

"Ho fuck."

Not that the woman – his _wife _– seems to notice.

"Dean," she huffs, in a heavy Polish burr, so that instead of saying Dean she says _Din_. Like _din_ner plate, "Why you have always to go away for so long and leave poor wife on her own? You no love me?"

Dean grins,

"Now Annie, we've talked about this. That stuff was just for the folks at immigration."

"Yes," Annie huffs, "But I so sure you change your mind. Because after all, I am desirable woman," Roman coughs into his palm at that point as he tries to stifle a bubble of laughter and Dean's wife glares back at him like Medusa, "Who dis?"

Most of the time women seem to faun over Roman, so the stink eye he gets is kind of a surprise.

It's also just a little bit scary.

"Annie, _this_ here is my partner," Dean grins, slinging an arm around the bigger man's shoulders and then slapping his chest, "Annie, meet Roman Reigns and Roman, meet my girl, Agnieszka."

Annie's face hardens,

"You say partner? You gay now? Is _this_ the reason you no love me?"

A teenager in the booth a window down from where they're standing blinks up in bewilderment from a driver's license form, clearly not having expected a soap opera to be playing out beside him.

Dean gapes,

"What? No. _Geez_. Learn to have a little freakin' chill woman. Roman is my _business_ partner."

Annie grunts a little,

"Oh."

"Which is why I'm here. See I uh, need a little favor."

In response his wife folds her big arms and pouts,

"American husband always need _leettle_ favor."

Dean pulls a packet of Hershey's Kisses from his coat and then smirks as the formerly narrowed eyeballs in front of him light up like Christmas lights. Or something heftier than that, like maybe some sort of fire on an oil rig. She makes a grab towards them and Dean pulls them back, adopting a tone Roman uses on his daughter; a sort of faux disappointment mixed in with a sigh.

"Annie, I'll be honest here, that kinda hurts a little. Especially when I stopped to get your favorite sweet treats. _An'_ considerin I crawled in through the bathroom window when the immigration folks showed up on your doorstep that time. Otherwise _you_ would be back home in Kiev now."

"Warsaw," Roman hisses out of the corner of his mouth, as Dean frowns and then realizes his error. "Uh, yeah, I meant what he said."

In response, Agnieszka rolls her eyes,

"Ugh, fine then. Who you want me to look up _this_ time?"

"Jennifer Boseman," Dean offers back brightly, leaning in over the desktop so he can see the computer screen and –

_Ohhhh_. Roman suddenly understands what they're doing there _and_ why his partner had wanted window number four.

The woman who Dean had offended five minutes earlier, passes them again on her way to the door, but stops for a second to blink at Dean's tushy which is hung over the counter with his feet skimming the floor.

His wife seems to notice at once,

"Keep walking."

"No," Dean is saying, unaware of the scrap as he watches the faces of a million different Jennifers flash past him on the screen, "No. That's not her. _Wait_."

Jabbing his finger at the computer so forcefully that he nearly knocks it over, he waves his partner in,

"Uce, look."

Rolling her eyes Agnieszka turns the screen round again so that the photo of the redhead is pointed his way and even though the big man has never met the woman – and the photo shows her somewhere probably in her late teens – he stills knows it's _their _Jennifer the same way that Dean does.

"Oh man."

"Similar, right?" Dean grins back,

"Identical."

Because yep, just as everyone who knew them had promised, Ella and Jennifer look exactly the same. Except for the hair and eye color maybe, but in the nose and the cheeks and the jaw they are the same. Or close enough to baffle a husband in a dark room for example and with her hair in a towel, so no wonder Hurley had thrown himself on her.

Dean leans in closer,

"She got an address?"

Agnieszka hits the print button with a lip curl that _kind_ of makes her look like Seth. Well, except for her size and the fact she's not a rat dog. Although Roman likes to think that the two of them would get on well.

"Last address from many many year back," Agnieszka huffs moodily, "Nothing updated since then. Driver's licence expired four weeks ago. Not been renewed."

She tears the details off the sheet and then hands it over the desk to her husband who winks at her,

"Thanks beautiful."

"Hershey Kisses," she demands, putting her hand out with a look of displeasure that melts rapidly as Dean bends and kisses her palm – like the knight from a nineteen fifties Hollywood movie – before pressing the chocolate into it,

"You take care now wife. Oh," he pauses, "And about those divorce papers?"

"I think about it," the no nonsense Eastern European huffs and for the first time Dean seems to slump just a little.

"But – ,"

"Next," Agnieszka shouts, thumping her hand down on the desk, bringing the light up over her station and scaring the living daylights out of the man next in the queue. Dean is still stood with his finger raised upwards like he's waiting to ask a question in class and so Roman takes him and steers him back gently with the all-important paper flapping loosely in the breeze.

He grunts,

"You know what uce? I got a horrible feelin' m' gonna be married to her _forever_, which was _not_ the freakin' plan."

They push out through the doors and back onto the street again as Roman sighs and tries not to grin,

"Well then babe, maybe you should have thought a little more on that before marrying a woman for nothing but cash."

"Hey," Dean protests, "It like, was four years ago. I was tryin' a scrape the money for my private detective tests. An' _anyway_," he grins, "If I hadn't 'a married her, then _she _woulda never got a job in the DMV. An' then the two of _us_ woulda have never got this, right?"

Roman takes the page he is waving and then blinks at it,

"Says here she lives three hours away. But this address is from nearly twenty years back, which means she's probably moved. Maybe a couple of times."

Dean shrugs back at him,

"But I mean, it's a start right?"

Roman nods fondly,

"Sure is babe," reaching out he ruffles the other man's hair up, then turns for the car with a shit eating grin, "Oh, and by the way, the next time you come for dinner babe, you should totally bring your lovely new wife along. Because don't have a whole lot of couple friends these days and I know my wife would love her. What do you think, huh _poopsie pie_."

Dean lets out a groan and then scratches his tangle like an embarrassed little child,

"Uh, yeah, about that. Don't suppose there's any way we could forget that ever happened, huh?"

Roman doesn't even need to think about it.

"Nope."

* * *

**Well, since this time next week it will all be over. I just want to wish all my readers a very Merry Christmas. Whether you celebrate or not, I hope it's a lovely day!**


	17. Seventeen

**Hope you all had a lovely Christmas! Here's the next instalment for you. Please feel free to read it while you digest turkey and chocolates!**

**Mandy, Have you had any news about your job interview yet? Moving sounds exciting. Fresh starts can always be good. Glad you liked Dean's wife. She's definitely quite a character, even if Dean doesn't like her as much as she likes him!**

**Rebel8954, You're welcome! If it's any help, I laughed at his wife too. I have no idea where she came from, but I just suddenly loved the idea of Dean having all these weird skeletons in his closet. She might be the biggest though!**

**xXBalorBabeXx, Nah, no love for Dean in this story. This is strictly brother centric. Although, clearly Dean has quite a history with ladies in this AU!**

**Wolfgirl2013, Thank you and yes, next is a Lauren and Dean story.**

**Cheryl24, Well we wouldn't want a normal Dean Ambrose now, would we?!**

**TactfulLizard, Don't worry, Dean and Roman are on the case (oh, and Seth. Seth is there too!)**

**Skovko, Haha! I thought you might. Annie is definitely the gift that keeps on giving. What a lucky man Dean is to have her as a wife.**

**XwwecoyoteX, Don't worry, there's still a few more weeks to go, but we're definitely into the last half of this crazy tale and also no, Annie is definitely not the sort of woman to let her American husband go very easily (or ever…sorry Dean!)**

**Minnie1015, 'Din' does indeed (reluctantly) have a wife. A very strong, very affectionate wife that I probably like as a character way more than I should. Still, at least he married her the right reasons…right?!**

**HannonsPen, Yay! Welcome back. Sorry to hear that life's been crazy, but I'm glad my equally crazy writing ramblings help a little! Hugs and squishes back!**

**Phoenix lord of rebirth, Yep, the end is creeping (slowly, slowly) towards us! Things are definitely going to start to unravel (in more ways than one) soon enough. But for now, please enjoy another crazy chapter for the Christmas period!**

**Merry Christmas…**

* * *

**SEVENTEEN**

St Francis Xavier is a one hundred year old building – with soaring marble arches – that apparently doesn't allow dogs, which Dean learns the hard way when he gets to the entrance and is stopped by some blowhard in a white collar,

"_That_ can't come in,"

He's pointing at Seth, who looks suitably respectable and frankly freaking _adorable_ in a doggie bow tie, which had come with pretty much a whole freaking wardrobe from his froufrou former owner. _Most_ of which Dean had thrown out. Well, all except for the swanky bow tie of course and a small leather jacket, which had kind of looked like his.

Because like father, like doggie son and all that jazz.

On hearing himself being referred to as a pronoun, the little white dog jerks his head up and curls his lip, which makes the jittery looking churchman launch backwards in alarm and then draw a hasty sign of the cross over his chest, like he thinks the Pomeranian may in fact be the devil.

Dean gives Seth a nudge and then frowns at him.

_Dude, chill._

"Oh, him. Yeah, that's my emotional support dog."

"Your _what_?" the straight laced clergyman blinks in response, probably at the thought of the tiny little hellhound being a comfort fucking _anything_.

Dean nods,

"Uh, yeah man – uh crap. I mean_ father_. An' crap, I don't mean _crap_. I mean poop. Can I say poop? Is poop okay?"

The man lifts a doubtful looking brow in response to him, which seems to imply that no, Dean _cannot _say poop, or for that matter, any _other_ word he is thinking, which is kind of a bummer.

Wait, is bummer allowed?

The priest sighs,

"Fine, but keep him away from the casket _and_ the family and do _not_ let him go near the mayor."

Dean salutes him,

"Dude, I promise. Like, they won't even know that we're here, right little man? Whoa, Seth, hey. Bad boy."

In the pause the dog has lifted his leg up like he's thinking about peeing right in front of the damn doors, or perhaps the priest's shoes if he can hit the right angle. Bending down Dean scoops him up into his chest and then throws an awkward looking wince at the padre,

"Uh, guess he must be one of those _atheist_ dogs. But anyway listen you have a great show man."

He gives the baffled priest a too hard slap across the back, then bleeds through the doors with the rest of the mourners to try and find a pew – or whatever they're called – somewhere inside. Which shouldn't be too hard because the place is_ ginormous_, with tall blue painted columns holding up the vaulted roof and with white and brown tiles and dark brown wooden benches, which Dean slides himself and Seth into at the back, away from the casket and the mayor as promised but with a good view of Christopher Hurley up front, who is stood staring off into space almost blankly as people file up to give him their condolences and hugs. Probably unaware that they are comforting a killer.

Or a_ probable_ killer, which is pretty much the same thing and which is also the reason that Dean is fully glowering at him, like a hawk – no, like a _gunhawk_ – as someone plops down by his side. Someone with pepper pot hair and a moustache, not to mention an unlit but very well chewed cigar.

Dean screws his face up,

"Hackett? What are _you_ doin' here?"

"Funnily enough son I was going to ask _you_ the same thing," the grumpy old timer growls back in response to him before blinking at Seth, "Is that dog wearing a_ bow tie_?"

"It's a funeral," Dean huffs, "I wanted him to look proper, an' anyway, what kind of church doesn't allow dogs?"

"All of them son," Hackett snorts back wryly, before glancing around like he's looking for someone, "The big one not with you?"

He's talking about Roman.

"No."

"What happened? You two boys have a fight, some sort of private eye, lover's tiff or something? Say, that why you're sporting this?" he gives the black eye a tap and Dean nearly shoots off the pew in astonishment. Well astonishment and outrage,

"_Ow_, dude. What the fuck?"

The grouchy looking priest who had glared at him earlier is stepping through the door as the f-word bellows out and then bounces off the blue painted walls and the vaulting so that everyone can hear it. He narrows his eyes and Dean holds a hand up then grins,

"Crap, my bad."

"Smooth kid," Hackett grunts, as the blonde drops back down and then presses a hand to his swollen eye tenderly.

Seth keens up to lick it,

"The hell is wrong with you dude? You don't just go around freakin' _pokin'_ folks like that, an' no it wasn't Reigns. For your information I got jumped."

"Lemme guess here," Hackett snorts around the tip of his stogie, "By some schmuck you caught bangin' his pretty secretary, right?"

"No, an' anyway, they prefer to be called _office managers_."

Hackett blinks back at him,

"They what?"

Dean shrugs,

"I don't know, it makes 'em sound more or important or somethin' an' – look man, forget it. Are you gonna arrest him or not?"

Hackett blinks again, but this time like he thinks Dean might actually be crazy, which, okay, so he sounds like he is, even though the truth is he's never been more focussed.

Or sure that he's right.

"Who?"

"Christopher Hurley," he groans back, "Look, come on dude, keep up with me here, it's simple. Christopher Hurley is broke – like, flat broke. The guy's got people showin' up to take his furniture away. Which is why he killed his wife, so he could cash in her life insurance. An' _that's_ why he got her roommate from rehab to help. So that she can make it look like a suicide. Except that I'm like, _way_ too smart to fall for that, which is why I'm out walkin' the dogs a couple nights back an' BAM," he mimes getting punched in the face, which upsets Seth who starts to bark at him.

A woman from the church comes striding over,

"Excuse me sir."

"What? Who said that?" Dean instantly puts his hands out and she stops herself at once and then flushes bright pink,

"Oh my. I'm so sorry I didn't realize you were, um," she falters, then smiles again as Dean gropes across the pews, upsetting a bible and a hymn sheet for the funeral, "Forget I said anything."

"Uh, okay," Dean nods, watching from the corner of his eye as she creeps away from them before turning back to Hackett, "So are you arrestin' him or not?"

"On the day of his wife's funeral with, hmm, let me see here, zero shred of credible proof, except the word of a man who just pretended to be blind so he could sneak a damn rat wearing a bow tie into a cathedral? Wow, lemme think this through for a second here. _No_. Oh, and faking a disability is a federal offence son."

Dean decides it's best to keep quiet about the Polish wife thing _and_ about the thing with the monkey _and_ pretending to be a florist to get into Hurley's house.

He frowns instead,

"But, we freakin' got proof dude. Or like, we _will_ have, as soon as we track the roommate down."

Which is the reason that Roman had stayed in the office, so he could call Jennifer's old address and try and work out where she'd gone, or to see if the people who lived there had kept her contact details. Not that the Samoan had been exactly happy about letting Dean go off to the funeral on his own, given the whole being jumped in a park thing and the fact that the killer would probably also be there. Hence Dean having to take Seth along with him, oh and hence him wearing Roman's jacket as well, since apparently a beaten up old biker leather had not been funeral attending attire.

Who knew?

Hackett lifts a brow in confusion,

"What roommate?"

"The _lookalike_ one," Dean says with a huff, because really, for a cop he's pretty slow on the uptake, "He was screwin' around with her. Uh, like _Hurley_ was I mean. Even though _he_ freakin' says it was an accident, an' look man, whatever. Hurley did it. He killed his wife."

In pretty much the same second that Dean makes the statement, there is a sudden loud wail from the front of the church as the grieving widow-slash-possible-murderer, flings himself across the flower laden coffin and starts to sob. Hackett takes the stogie from his mouth and points it at him,

"Yep. Because _that_ is a hard bitten killer right there."

"I'm tellin' you man," Dean grunts as his phone rings. The priest from before shoots him an unimpressed glare, then goes back to trying to coax the wailing the billionaire upright so they can start the damn service, "He freakin' did it. Hello?"

Roman's deep voice rumbles back across the line at him,

"Babe?"

"Hey uce, find anything out?"

Beside him Detective Hackett reinserts his cigar tip, then puts out a weathered looking hand to stroke Seth, who curls up his lip and tries to take a chunk out of him. Probably for not believing his genius owner, Dean likes to think.

Roman sighs like he's spent too long in front of the computer, which is probably because he has.

"Yeah, but it's like we thought babe, the address on Jennifer's driving licence is an old one. Managed to get in touch with her parents though. Pair of them live a couple hours out of town. Figured we could maybe have ourselves a little road trip and see what they can tell us?"

Dean nods,

"Sure, sounds good."

"Speaking of good, how's the funeral going?"

"Uh – ,"

Good question.

Dean glances towards the front, where not only the grouchy priest but the turncoat bodyguard Batista and the god damn _mayor_ are trying to drag Hurley back. A woman passes by wearing a hat with a feather on it and Seth starts to yap at her which makes the woman shriek and _then_ crash back into a tall plinth of flowers, which tumbles over and hits an elderly man across the head.

"Jesus Christ," Hackett shouts in astonishment, which promptly echoes back off the columns and the vaults and makes all the mourners _not_ dealing with Hurley or the flower thing gasp.

Dean shrugs,

"Yeah uce. S' goin' good."

* * *

**Next week (which will be 2020. Happy New Year!) Roman and Dean get a few more answers about the elusive roommate. Be there or be square!**


	18. Eighteen

**Happy New Year everyone! I hope 2020 brings you everything you want!**

**xXBalorBabeXx, Well, since the real Seth tends to be very vocal (putting it mildly) I figured dog Seth would have to be too!**

**Skovko, Haha, not quite. But Seth did try hard to get her hat for you!**

**Rebel8954, Even though dog Seth is far too feisty and proud to admit it, that little fur ball loves his Dean (and hates almost everything else!)**

**Mandy, Hope you had a good New Year's and have heard from at least one of the companies by now? I've been keeping my fingers crossed for you! But hopefully in the meantime the first chapter of 2020 (can you believe it!) will help!**

**ViolentHugger03, I couldn't resist. Seth as a small yappy dog just seems to 'fit' somehow. Especially early Shield Seth. Whoo boy he was yappy!**

**Wolfgirl2013, My Christmas was nice and quiet and relaxing (with too much food!) Hope you had a good one too?**

**Guest, Thank you!**

**Cheryl24, Yeah, I have a feeling that Seth won't be invited back to that church anytime soon!**

**XwwecoyoteX, Next decade, here we go (what a wild thought!) Was that Dean causing chaos in that last chapter though, or Seth? (No, you're right, it's always Dean!)**

**Minnie1015, If dog Seth was a seeing eye dog then his poor person would just spend their life stood under a tree while he yapped at a squirrel. Seeing eye dog Seth wouldn't care anymore than private detective dog Seth, lol!**

**LunaticMischief, Aww, glad you liked it! There's always room for a bit of humour in my stories, especially if Dean or dog Seth are involved!**

**Phoenix lord of rebirth, Thank you so much! And thank you more for being there each chapter of the last year and following my crazy mind/stories. Here's to 2020!**

**First chapter of a new decade!**

* * *

**EIGHTEEN**

Mr and Mrs Boseman live three hours out of Cinci in a cute little house with a flagpole out in front and blue painted weatherboarding and neat hanging baskets. Which means it _doesn't_ look like the house of a potential villainess who had helped to murder and string up her roommate so she could run off with her husband.

Plus Mrs Boseman makes cakes and no one who bakes cakes could have given birth to a murderer. Or at least _Dean_ likes to think so.

"Another slice dear?" Marilyn Boseman asks, picking a plate up and depositing a sticky piece of apple cake down onto it. He already has a macaroon on his kneecap and a helping of pound cake stuffed into his mouth, but since the apple cake looks and smells like heaven, he simply takes it with a nod, spitting crumbs everywhere,

"Thanks."

"And you dear, can I tempt you with a strawberry shortcake?"

Roman shakes his head and then smiles,

"Thank you ma'am, but I would hate to eat everything you made for the bake sale," he puts some added stress on the last couple of words and then throws a pointed look at his partner, who has a blob of apple frosting smeared across his nose and is stuffing his cheeks like a squirrel in winter and who is _also_ oblivious to it, since he looks up and shrugs.

"What?"

"But I _would_ love some more of this tea if you've got some," the bigger man continues smoothly holding up his china cup, which is so damn flimsy he thinks he might break it.

Mr Boseman positively lights up in pride,

"Of course. Another cup of Southern sweet tea coming up dear and I'll bring some more macaroons," she winks at Dean, then bustles from the room past her grey headed husband, who lifts a brow at them,

"Uh, sorry about that, but it's been kind of a while since we last had folks over. You know, ever since Jenni was – ,"

_Institutionalized._

Roger Boseman doesn't say the word outright, but both of the visitors know what he means. Or must do, since even the scruffy copper blonde private detective stops shovelling in cake crumbs and blinks,

"Is that her?"

He points to a photograph perched on the mantle of a redheaded youngster in a communion gown, beaming proudly up at the camera in what looks like the leafy front yard of the house. In response Roger Boseman wrestles loose a pair of glasses and then blinks towards the frame before smiling,

"Yeah that's her, guess she must have been ten or eleven there, before all of the depression and whatnot kicked in," he sighs at that part and then flaps a loose hand up, like he's not too sure what depression even _is_, or like maybe in his day the mentally encumbered preferred to keep it to themselves and be miserable alone. Although there's something sort of weary and defeated in the gesture.

Roman clears his throat,

"And when did that come on? If you don't mind me asking?"

Evidently he does.

"You said you're looking for her?

"Uh, yeah," Dean steps in, brushing crumbs off his fingers as he switches from cake to the waiting macaroon. He glances at Roman, "The folks at Blue Skies were worried about her, you know, like _takin' off_, so they kinda hired me an' the big guy here to find her."

Which is a lie. A god damn huge colossal lie, but still better than telling her poor worried father they suspect his daughter dressed up as her friend so she could keep on having an affair with her husband while they bumped her off together and made it look like suicide. Not that it makes Roman feel any better about lying. Which is why it's Dean who says it.

Roman can't.

He just _can't_.

"Here we are," Mrs Boseman trills cheerfully, breezing back into the room, with the small replenished cup and what looks like a _platter_ of macaroons and strawberry shortcakes that make Dean's eyes nearly launch out of his head, "Now, what did I miss?"

Her husband sucks a breath in,

"The boys here were asking about Jennifer."

"Oh," Marilyn sits down on the arm of the sofa like her legs have given out. She's a petite little thing, with short white hair and gold earrings and in many ways she reminds Roman of his own beloved mom, nine hundred miles away in Tampa who would probably _also_ have loved feeding Dean up. And probably Seth and even Carl the damn pigeon. Mrs Boseman bites her lip and then composes herself, although her eyes still look damn near imploring, "Do you think you can find her?"

Roman nods,

"We hope so, but we need to ask a few questions about her, if that sounds okay?"

She nods,

"Of course, anything, just so long as you find my baby. It's been a month now and nothing. Not a word. It's just not like her and I know she has problems, but she's never gone out of touch with us like this before. Not once and when they said she'd left Blue Skies – ,"

She breaks off and turns her hands up like she's totally clueless, which she probably is. When Roman gets home he's going to hug his own daughter super hard for about an hour and possibly never let her go. Putting down his tea cup he slides himself forwards and then squeezes her hand gently as Dean takes a napkin and wraps up a macaroon and a strawberry shortcake. For the drive home he guesses.

"Did you know she was struggling to pay for her room? The people at Blue Skies said she ran out of money."

Roger Boseman sighs,

"No, she didn't tell us anything. Last we heard she was starting to get better. Not that we could have much helped anyhow," he looks up and then glances around the room with a hand wave, "This here house is pretty much all we own, although we'd have tried. I mean, I have a _few_ savings."

"I just wish she'd said something," Marilyn puts in with a sob, before wrestling a crumpled up tissue from her sweater which she dabs at her eyes with.

Her husband pats her knee,

"Now now."

"But she could be _anywhere_," the woman sniffs brokenly, "She could be on the streets or out of her mind. I mean, she hasn't been home, or used her cards, or called _anyone_ – ,"

"Well that's why we're here," Roman puts in, not mentioning that his partner has theories on those things and that all of them end with Jennifer laying low in Hurley's bed. Clearing his throat he changes the subject, "Did she ever mention Ella, her roommate at Blue Skies?"

Mrs Boseman nods. And sniffs, but nods mostly,

"Oh yes, those two were thicker than thieves. Jen loved Ella and you know, they looked so similar. Apart from the hair they were like two peas in a pod and a great help to each other. Jen used to say that Ella saved her life in there. She would have done almost anything for her."

Out of guilt for sleeping with her husband perhaps?

Roger Boseman shifts in his armchair,

"We uh, read about it in the papers. What happened to Ella I mean, dreadful shame. She was such a lovely lady and granted, we may have only met her the once, but she seemed so determined and headstrong and vibrant," he shakes his head, "It's tragic. I guess you just never know."

Roman feels Dean sort of bristle beside him at the inference that Ella chose to take her own life. Like he has done from pretty much the moment he had found her, or like part of him thinks the suicide-murder was his fault. Putting out a hand Roman palms his partner's neck line to stop him blurting something out, then turns back to Jennifer's folks, since it's probably best that he asks the next question.

"Did Jennifer ever mention Ella's husband at all?"

"Who, Chris?"

Marilyn blinks,

"Oh yes, she mentioned him a few times. Said he was always coming by to see his wife. Although from the sounds of it Ella wasn't receptive. Not that I want to be a _tattletale_ or anything."

Dean blinks at her,

"What d' ya mean _not receptive_?"

"Well, you know," Marilyn Boseman lowers her voice, like she thinks Chris Hurley might be in the kitchen, or have sent Batista round to wiretap the house. Which is one of the few things that Ambrose will _not_ do, although Roman hasn't got around to asking him why, "Jenn said they were having a few problems with their marriage. Evidently Ella wanted to file for divorce, but Chris kept showing up and trying to win her over. Poor Jenn felt so sorry for him."

Dean snorts,

"I bet she did."

Roman gives him a nudge in the ribcage and then carries on, as delicately as he can, given the topic he's about to broach with them. Or possibly drop on them.

He sucks in a breath,

"Did Jennifer ever mention Mr Hurley coming onto her, or uh, taking an interest when he came by to see his wife?"

Marilyn frowns and then glances at her husband. They both look confused,

"Good heavens, of course not. I mean, not that Jennifer isn't attractive and I know they look the same, but frankly, even if he did then Jennifer would never have taken him up on it. She wasn't like that and she loved Ella too much."

Roger frowns at them,

"Now why on earth would you ask that?"

"No reason," Roman shrugs, although his mind is in a whirl, because either the Bosemans are very wrong about their daughter, or they're way off with their theory. Or Dean's theory at least, "One of the staff members mentioned a mix up. Chris Hurley thought Jennifer was Ella one day and tried to kiss her, although he says it was an accident."

Dean lets out a little huff at that part, which thankfully seems to go unnoticed as Marilyn nods, looking relieved.

"Oh, well, like I said they did look very similar, I mean, even I got those girls mixed up some days and especially when Ella was wearing that white headscarf."

Dean blinks at her open mouthed,

"White headscarf?"

"Oh yes, Ella was always wearing one of those things, I think it reminded her of classic Hollywood chic. But the first time I saw her I thought she was Jennifer and well, I mean, I learned after that, but I can totally see why poor Mr Hurley would have gotten confused once. It's very easily done."

Beside him Dean is staring back in bewilderment and Roman knows what he's thinking. Maybe it _was_ Ella he'd met. Maybe it wasn't the lookalike after all. Although as quickly as he's thought it, he seems to harden again, or at least by the way his jaw sort of clenches and his eyebrows narrow in. He's so certain he's right.

But what if he's not?

What if Ella _did_ kill herself?

Marilyn Boseman leans in with a sniffle and then grabs Roman's hand before he finishes the thought, or frankly can even begin to start to process what they've learnt about Jennifer, or Ella, or Chris. Fighting a sob back, she squeezes his fingers and then dabs at her eyes with the screwed up tissue ball before staring him dead in the face and half begging him,

"Please find our daughter."

Roman nods at her,

"We will."

* * *

**Next week, things take a turn...**


	19. Nineteen

**Here we are then. Drama, drama, drama…**

**xXBalorBabeXx, Well, that's their plan. But as usual, their plans have a way of being interrupted!**

**ViolentHugger03, Haha, I can confirm or deny nothing (although Dean is going to talk more about it here) and rest assured, there will be more twists before it's over!**

**Phoenix lord of rebirth, I know, poor old Roman is caught between his loyalty to Dean, his belief in the good of people and his doubts about everything. I know I tend to kind of put Dean through it, but Roman isn't having it easy here either!**

**Wolfgirl2013, Aww, thanks and I'm glad you had such a lovely Christmas.**

**Mandy, Oh no, sorry you've not heard yet and that things are getting you down. As someone once said to me, we can only control the things we can control, so maybe focus on the things that are within your power and build your strength from those. Much love.**

**Rebel8954, Well, Jennifer and Batista being behind it would certainly be a good twist! Not that I'm saying it is...or isn't...in fact, I'm not saying anything at all! **

**Skovko, Haha, is Lana/Liv vibes a compliment or an insult?! (Better than Lana/Bobby/Rusev though I guess, since that would definitely be an insult!**

**XwwecoyoteX, Ooh, nice theory! But yes, I agree, poor Mr and Mrs Boseman. Although at least Mrs Boseman got to feed Dean up. That made her smile for a little while. Dean tends to have that effect on the ladies!**

**Lunatic789, Then wait no longer!**

**Not-that-kinda-gurl, Aww, don't worry. The holiday season happens so rapidly a week feels like a couple of hours, so I'm not surprised you fell behind on the story. Got a bit of drama for you this week though!**

**Wrestlingfanforever, Hope you had a good Christmas and I'm really glad you're enjoying the story.**

**Minnie1015, Haha, the best for last indeed! And as a special reward I'm giving you some much needed drama in this chapter (don't say I never give you anything!)**

**Hold onto your strawberry shortcakes...**

* * *

**NINETEEN**

"No way," Dean says around a mouthful of cheeseburger two hours later in a rundown diner eighty seven miles out of town. Although how he can manage a god damn _cheeseburger_ – not to mention onion rings and a side order of waffle fries – after having scoffed nearly two thirds of a pound cake and five macaroons, Roman has no idea, "I'm tellin' you uce, it was Jennifer that hired me. I don't care what they said about the headscarf. It was her."

To further his point, or else because he's hungry, he dunks a wodge of fries into some barbecue sauce and then crams them into his mouth and keeps talking,

"Like, I can feel it in my gut."

"You sure that ain't just all the cake?"

Dean spreads his hands in response,

"Hey, she offered, an' besides dude, who in the hell turns down _cake_? I mean, just because their kid is a cold blooded killer, doesn't mean I should freakin' take it out on the apple sponge."

Roman sighs,

"So you still think she did it?"

"Yeah, don't you?" Dean frowns in response, before taking another huge bite of his burger and then reaching for some ketchup on the table next door. Much to the annoyance of the trucker who is sat there with a porterhouse steak and a mac and cheese side.

"Honestly babe," Roman shrugs turning his hands up, "Right now I ain't sure _what_ the hell I believe."

"Which is why we freakin' need to find the roommate already," Dean points out, shoving the rest of the cheeseburger in his mouth and then swiping a napkin from a pile beside the trucker, who looks up with murder from underneath his cap.

Because it is hot in the cramped little diner, Roman has peeled his suit jacket off and rolled his shirt sleeves up to his bicep, which means the hellacious tattoo is on show. He flexes it as he hooks up his coffee, which makes the trucker blink and then finish his steak, before slamming a few dollar bills on the table and then sloping back out. None of which Dean seems to catch, since he's too busy mopping up sauces and cheese grease.

Roman snorts at him.

_Idiot._

"Hey, you still got the list?"

"Right here babe," Roman taps his breast pocket where a carefully folded piece of scented note paper is tucked, which contains the names of anyone in the city that Mr and Mrs Boseman thought that Jennifer might know and which is therefore their best and only chance of trying to find her.

Dean balls his grease smeared napkin up,

"Good. Except I figure we're probably gonna have to go through 'em like, one by one or somethin'."

Roman pulls out some notes and starts to count them out on the table while Dean fishes around in his leather jacket for loose change, before pulling out a dime and a couple of nickels.

Roman grins at him,

"Nah, don't worry, I got this babe."

The middle aged waitress who had taken their orders is stood by the doors smoking as they head back outside and into the already thick black winter evening and the bitterly chill thirty five degree wind, although at least on the plus side the trucker has long gone.

The big man throws a smile at her,

"Goodnight baby girl."

"An' besides uce," Dean is busy saying in front of him, as he pats at his pockets and tries to track down their keys, having obviously reverted to their original conversation, "It couldn't have been Ella that night at the park, because of the whole likin' Seth thing, remember? Fuck. Here they are."

He pulls the keys loose and then wrestles his way back into the Buick as a sudden gust of wind tangles his hair,

"Oh come _on_."

"Need to tie it back babe," Roman grins super unhelpfully as he drops into the passenger side and cranks up the heat. They are out in the rugged countryside just north of Dayton, where the flat Ohioan landscape has risen up into tree lined peaks and undulating hills which are studded by woodland which shelter natural rock formations and hidden waterfalls and streams. All of which make a pretty nice change of scenery from the badly rundown brownstone and Henry Hurley's god damn slum. In fact, it kind of reminds Roman of team visits and travelling in the bus with the rest of the team, since even though Dean doesn't constitute a roster, he certainly chatters enough to _sound_ like one. Which at some point that Roman can't quite put a pin in, has become weirdly comforting. Like a white noise machine.

"Not that it'll do any good lookin' her friends up," Dean huffs as he pulls the Buick back onto the road, it's ancient headlights sort of _flickering_ with exertion, "Uh, Jennifer I mean. Crap. What is wrong with the fuckin' lights? Because she's probably like out of the country already, in one of Hurley's beach houses in freakin' Bali or some shit, just like, waitin' for the storm to blow over so she can come waltzin' back an' be Mrs Hurley number two. We should probably get onto like freakin' _Interpol_ or somethin'."

Roman pulls a face at him,

"Look, I don't know babe. I mean, not that I doubt you or anythin' here, but the Jennifer her folks were describing to us back there doesn't sound much like a girl who would turn on her best friend."

Dean rolls his eyes,

"Dude, like _yeah_, of course _they_ think that. I mean, they're her parents, they're _meant_ to think she's totally innocent, that's their job. Well, I mean, unless you're _my_ parents, because in _that_ case you get wasted five nights of the week and spend the other two tryin' to beat the crap outta me, but look, whatever dude, the point is she's their kid, so no way are they ever gonna think she's a murderer, or a freakin' adulterer or whatever she is."

Roman blinks at him,

"Your folks used to hit you?"

Dean shrugs,

"I mean, when they could catch me then yeah, like, where do you think I got this runner's physique from?"

"Babe," Roman puts a hand out and ruffles his hair, which the younger man blushes and then tries to squirm away from, but which doesn't work too well since he's all buckled in,

"Hey whoa, easy big guy, m' tryin' a drive here remember? An' besides, what is this? A special edition of Doctor Phil? Get a hold of yourself dude, we're freakin' tryin' a solve a murder an' what the hell is _this_ guy's problem?"

Roman knits his brows,

Huh?

Because at some point in between Dean's broken childhood revelation and Roman trying helplessly to make it okay, a dark SUV has come flying up behind them on the near deserted road and taken root in the trunk, like it thinks the clapped out Buick is holding up their journey.

Or more likely because the driver is drunk.

"Dude, go _around_," Dean grunts rolling down the creaky window and then sticking a hand out in a mime to overtake, since no way can they speed up without the engine overheating, or the ancient windshield cracking or possibly losing a wheel.

"What the fuck is _wrong_ with some people?" Dean huffs, as the black SUV drops back and then comes alongside them with a roar from the engine. In response, Roman shoots a quick glare to his side, expecting to see a bunch of idiot frat boys, or some businessman asshole with too much money to burn.

Only, nope.

Because instead staring back through the window is a guy with a ski mask pulled over his face, who looks at the bigger man dead in the eyeballs and then suddenly jerks the wheel.

Roman braces,

"Look out babe."

Dean frowns,

"Look out for wha – _fuck_."

As the black car swings in and swipes itself hard against them, Dean lets out a bark and then grapples with the wheel, which seems determined to put them right into a treeline, or the ditch running along the opposite side of the road and neither of which are a very good option.

He cranks it back again,

"Whoa, what the fuck is goin' on? Why the hell is this guy tryin' a ram us? _Fuck_."

The second swipe hits the Buick nose on, which Dean fends off by turning into the movement and hitting the car back so that they're locked side by side, which brings Roman so damn close to the driver that he can practically see the eerie whites of his eyes, plus someone else in another ski mask beside him, trying to help control the wheel.

Dean grins in triumph,

"Ha. That'll freakin' teach you come an' try mess with _my_ car."

"Uh, babe?" Roman grunts, pointing suddenly ahead of them, where a minivan has come unawares around the bend and is heading their way oblivious to the chaos, or that fact that there are two cars right in the middle of the road.

"Crap."

With the SUV still pushing against them and the minivan slamming on its brakes too damn slow, Dean has little choice but to bail off the asphalt and straight towards the ditch at the edge of the trees, which Roman knows is going to be bumpy before it even happens.

Dean yells,

"Hold on uce."

But not even _that_ softens the blow of the impact as the Buick careers wildly across the uneven ground and then hits a bump which pitches them upwards and nearly slams Roman's damn head into the roof before dropping them down, nose first into the gully which throws them both forwards.

Then nothing.

"Holy fuck."

Well, okay, so _almost_ nothing.

Roman puts a hand out,

"Babe, you okay?"

Dean is sat braced hard against the dashboard with his scruffy off blonde hair hung down half over his face, which kind of underlines the whole need-to-tie-it-back thing. Not that Roman mentions that part.

The copper blonde nods,

"Fuck. Yeah, I mean I _think_ so," he lifts up a hand to swipe at his face, which is when Roman sees the bright smear of red painted across it and has a god damn heart attack.

Well, _another_ heart attack that is.

"Babe, you're bleeding. Hey, where are you bleeding from? Babe, come on, talk to me, we need to find it and put pressure on it."

"Uh, Roman?" Dean blinks as the big man paws at him and the shirt beneath his jacket which is smeared with more red.

"It's okay babe. You're gonna be okay, you hear me?"

"I know I am," Dean shrugs, "Because it's strawberry shortcake."

"What?" as Roman's head springs up in confusion, Dean pulls a parcel from his leather jacket folds and unwraps it to reveal a very smushed looking pastry, the red preserve layer of which has pretty much exploded out to paint his clothes and his hands and his features a very bloody shade of red.

Roman blinks at it,

"Oh. Ho thank god," he pulls Dean towards him and then tucks the scruffy head down into his chest, before banging his partner so hard on the ribcage that it actually makes the younger man cough. Not that he seems to notice it too much.

"Fuck," he huffs, "What the freakin' hell was _that_?"

He isn't talking about the whole impromptu hug thing, he's talking about the car that had run them off the road and which has evidently sped back off into the blackness. Behind them the minivan has screeched to a halt too and Roman can see a worried couple bailing out and coming their way holding cell phones and blankets. Except weirdly the crash isn't his biggest concern, since Roman can feel something far more unsettling churning around in his stomach and he doesn't like it one bit.

His promise to his wife rings loud in his eardrums.

"It looks like someone doesn't want us on the Hurley case."

Damn.

* * *

**Next week, Roman has to make a difficult decision...**


	20. Twenty

**Time for things to get even more serious. Get ready folks!**

**xXBalorBabeXx, Yep. It was a close call. If Roman didn't think it was dangerous before, then he definitely does now!**

**Skovko, I know right? Those villains, murdering a poor innocent shortcake. Don't worry, there will be payback...maybe…**

**Mandy, Mum will hopefully be seeing the specialist soon once all of her notes and results have been sent through to him. I've got a cold too. Snap! Had to take two days off work and still feel under the weather, but getting there. Imaging what situations I'm going to get Dean into next definitely helped!**

**Rebel8954, You really don't like Batista do you?! What did that sweet, tattooed, known villain ever do to you (lol!) Yep, safe to say that was definitely warning #2.**

**Minnie1015, You know me, any excuse for the brotherly feels and I felt we'd gone too long without overt Roman worrying. You're welcome! Although you might not be so pleased after this chapter…**

**ViolentHugger03, You know what they say, a cliffhanger a day keeps the doctor away. Or okay, they don't say that, but they should!**

**HannonsPen, Yep, Roman is definitely going to have a lot to tell the missus when he gets home (and even more after this chapter).**

**Wolfgirl2013, Aww, thank you!**

**Lunatic789, Thank you very much. I'm glad you like my stories. I don't have any training in crime studies myself, but I do have an active imagination!**

**Phoenix lord of rebirth, Yay! Glad you liked it, I thought it was about time that I started to bring the drama!**

**I-Am-WarKitten, That's a very good theory. I like it, but don't worry, I'm not going to say if you're right or not. Not long until the end now, but still plenty of action left to come!**

**Okay folks...**

* * *

**TWENTY**

It turns out that the couple who stop in the minivan are a _very_ exuberant evangelist minister and his schoolteacher wife, who not only insist that the accident was their fault – even though it freaking patently was _not_ – but who _also_ insist on heading in the wrong direction and driving them back to Cincinnati themselves, which means having to cope with Kumbaya on cassette tape and a Christian sing along with the couple's kids in the back. But on the _plus_ side lands them back outside the brownstone not two hours later at nine o' clock at night. Along with an invite to a _Cookout For Jesus_ being held in Miami County a little later that month,

"And remember now fellers," the guy, Tad, grins at them as they climb from the minivan feeling battered and bruised, not to mention pissed off about the loss of the shortcake. Or at least _Dean_ is anyway, "Everyone's welcome to come along, provided you love Jesus and good old fashioned home cooking."

"I make potato salad," his beaming wife chips in as Roman nods and tries to seem grateful, "Uh, well we'll definitely think about it and thanks again for the ride."

"Not a problem," Tad grins at them, "It's always nice to see new places. Isn't that right kids?"

"Yeah," the rest of the family cheers, as in front of them a prostitute dressed in torn stockings starts a fight with a homeless man pushing a cart of tin cans.

"Daddy?" one of the kids chirps brightly, "Is that a sinner?"

"Sure is buddy," his father grins back, before punching the minivan back into drive again and then waving at their newfound friends, "Roman, Dean you two boys take care of yourselves now."

"Uh yeah, you too brother," Roman replies, as Tad turns the trusty Kumbaya tape back on again, which upsets one of their neighbors,

"Hey, turn that crap off."

Yep, they are definitely back in the city. Not that Dean hangs around to revel in that fact, since he's too pissed off to stand still for a second, or to even _think_ straight.

He hits himself.

"Babe?"

"That no good, freakin' billionaire _scumbag_," he yells in frustration before lashing out again and this time punching himself in the temple, which is what he has _wanted_ to do for two hours, but couldn't because of the whole _Kumbaya_ thing. Oh and the kids, "I mean who the fuck does he think is? Runnin' us off the road like a freakin' animal, an' totallin' _my_ car. _Fuck_."

He goes to hit himself again, but is stopped by Roman catching his forearm and then levering it back again,

"Ambrose easy. Calm down. Because it ain't gonna help anybody if you're injured."

He's right too, which is annoying.

Dean swears again.

"Fuck," then turns himself in the direction of the brownstone and starts to stomp his way up the steps, muttering even as he pulls the office keys out, "No good freakin' scumbag. Knockin' his wife off an' then tryin' to kill me, an' my partner, _an'_ my car. Take a fork an' freakin' stab his freakin' _eyeballs_ out with it."

Sunny as usual is stood out in the hallway saying goodbye to a very married looking John, although she stops and frowns as Dean stamps through the doorway and bangs into her client with a stormy faced shoulder check.

"Hey," she scowls, "What the hell is your problem?"

"Take it easy Sunny," Roman puts in from behind, as Dean stalks up the creaky stairs to the office and tries super hard not to hit himself again. Even though he's making no promises on _that_ one, "It's been a rough day. Someone tried to kill us tonight."

"Well they won't be the only ones," Sunny huffs crossly, dropping her cigarette down onto the floor and then grinding it heavily into the floorboards with the toe of her heel, which she probably wishes was Dean's head,

"Leave it with me baby girl, I'll talk to him."

"Huh, well you'd better," she snorts in response, "And you tell him from me that I've still got that chainsaw. He'll know what it means."

Roman knows what it means too, but keeps that part quiet as he nods at the hooker and then heads up the stairs after his furious uce, who has thankfully stopped cursing at himself in the meantime and is instead swearing death on the rickety office door, which has jammed before he can get it fully open and isn't helping his mood.

"Oh come on you piece of crap, why the fuck won't you just – ," he shoulder charges it. Which naturally ends up working _too_ well, since the door bangs open and sends him stumbling into the office, where he trips over Brock and lands face first on the floor, "Fuck."

Trying to help – or okay, _not_ help much – Brock bends down and starts to lick at Dean's shirt, aka the resting place of the shortcake. Not to mention the preserve.

Dean pushes him off.

"Babe?" Roman asks stepping in through the doorway and petting at Seth as the snowball scrabbles at his leg. Carl swoops down and nearly takes his damn eye out, but he figures the feathered rat is just trying to say hello and weirdly at some point he has become almost _used_ to having to duck a damn pigeon in his place of work, "You okay?"

"I'm gettin' rid of the dogs uce," the private eye huffs as Roman helps pull him up again.

"No you're not babe."

"Yes I am, like, first thing tomorrow, m' goin' down to the pound an' freakin' handin' 'em in, so I don't have to deal with any more slobber, an' hair, an' dog food."

Carl lands on his head and Seth trots over and sits on his work boots before blinking up mournfully.

Dean scoops him up.

"Fuck. Okay fine, you get _one_ more freakin' chance here, but if Christopher Hurley kills me, you three dudes are on your own. No more kibble an' no more freeloadin'."

Roman frowns,

"Are you sure that's who it was? Because I gotta say babe, when I was looking through the window, the guy seemed a whole lot bigger than that."

Dean shrugs,

"Fine, so it was Batista workin' under Hurley's orders, what difference does it make?"

His cell phone buzzes in his pants, which is seemingly the one remaining part of his anatomy that _isn't_ smeared with jam or a million crumbs.

Roman shakes his head,

"We should go to the police babe."

"Why? So they tell me m' crazy again, an' laugh it up all around the freakin' office? An' besides, I _tried_ to tell Hackett yesterday an' all he did was like, fuckin' smirk at me around his cigar, so he isn't gonna help."

"But that was before we were driven off the highway. Now we got proof that there's something to this case."

"Still doesn't mean that old bastard will believe us," Dean snarls bitterly, finally pulling loose his phone and then blinking in obvious surprise at the message.

Roman frowns back at him.

"Babe, something wrong?"

Dean shakes his head,

"Dunno, it's from Henry, wants to meet me down at Francis Xavier."

"The church?"

Dean shrugs,

"Yeah, says it's somethin' important, to do with his father an' linkin' him to the case, although we'll probably like, have to leave the dogs outside this time, because church folks are real snippy about havin' animals in there."

"We?"

Dean looks up,

"Yeah, why? Aren't you comin' with me?"

"Babe, I told you we need to go to the police."

"An' I told _you_," Dean fires back hotly, "That they're not gonna listen to a freakin' word we have to say. It's just you an' me dude," he shrugs at him, "Partners."

"God damn it uce," Roman snaps his eyes shut and tires not to focus on Dean's hurt expression as his wife's pleading voice runs around in his head, right alongside his own promise to her.

_If it gets too dangerous just promise me you'll pull out_

_Yep I promise._

He rubs his neck,

"Look babe, I can't, this whole thing is getting too much for me. I mean sure, when it was just putting some heat on the bad guys and going around asking questions and looking out for your ass, but now we got people trying to _kill_ us. I can't be into that, I got a wife and a kid."

"Wait," Dean gapes, shaking his head like a spaniel with too much water in its ears, "Lemme get this straight here. You wanna bail when we're _this_ close to catchin' who did it?"

"No, I'm _saying_ we need to be careful," Roman grunts, doing the whole worried, spreading-his-hands-wide bit, "Step back and call the police before someone gets hurt."

"Hurt?" Dean barks, "They already _are_ hurt. Ella Hurley is freakin' _dead_, an' the people that did it hired _me_ to fuckin' sit there an' watch while it happened."

"But that wasn't your fault."

"_Yes it was_," Dean yells back loudly, looking more pissed off than Roman has seen him and sounding so mad that Seth creeps away and then hides behind Brock who has gone to cower beneath the sofa. Even Carl has cleared off, "Because _I'm_ the freakin' private detective, okay? _I'm_ the one who is meant to catch bad guys an' figure stuff out. So the fact that I didn't? Guess what? That's on me. I was the one who knew the case was screwy an' I went an' freakin' took it on anyway. The cops don't care, they _told_ us they don't care, which means it's down to me to solve. So as my _partner_ either you're with me or you're not here.

"Babe," Roman puts hand out towards him.

Dean steps back,

"Are you coming or not?"

He looks more unhinged than ever, which is kind of ironic in a weird sort of a way, since he also seems more _controlled_ than Roman has seen him. Or at least he's not hitting himself anyway.

Roman blows out a sigh,

"Look, I can't babe. I can't do that to my family."

"Fine, then you're fired."

"_What_?" Roman growls in measures of outrage as Dean glowers back at him,

"I said you're freakin' _fired_. Go back to the agency an' tell 'em you're done here. Get a job in some big place with air conditionin' an' no pets. Me an' the guys'll be fine here without you. We don't freakin' need you."

"Ambrose, don't be a god damn ass," Roman groans back as Dean grabs up the leashes and then whistles for Brock and Seth, who come creeping out with their tails tucked between their legs.

Stomping across the office, Dean stops in the doorway and then fights back his anger. Or okay, some of it at least, as he takes in the newly _not_ paper covered surfaces and the organized filing cabinets and the two well used desks.

He shrugs,

"But uh, thanks for tidyin' up the office. I actually kinda like what you've done with the place."

Then he storms back out into the hallway and heads right into the biggest clusterfuck of his whole life.

* * *

**Next week? Well, let's just say things happen. What things? That would be telling.**


	21. Twenty One

**Welcome back everybody and now, if we're all sitting comfortably, let's kick this story up a notch.**

**xXBalorBabeXx, I know right? Dean was such a man in that last chapter and was too busy thinking with his pride!**

**Cheryl24, When you put it like that I feel sorry for him! It's definitely been a long day for poor Roman (although it might not be over quite yet…)**

**Rebel8954, Yep, Dean was definitely reacting with pride and hurt feelings more than anything else (typical man really!) It's like a couple having their first ever fight, only Dean's not very good with fights and needs to have the last word. Still, he feels bad about it in this chapter (Seth is also a good boy here too. Brock? Eh, not so much!)**

**Mandy, Thank you. The last scan results were what we had hoped for, so now mum just needs to start treatment which while hopefully work well. All very uncertain here, but such is life unfortunately. Hope things are going okay with you (or at least going better than they are for Dean in this chapter!)**

**Skovko, Yep and unfortunately Dean doesn't think things through too well when his feelings have been hurt!**

**Lunatic789, I love him as Shaw in Lockdown. I want to try and write a Shaw fic, but the character isn't as easy to write as Dean is because he's quite serious and not quirky like Dean/Mox. One day I'll get around to it though!**

**Wolfgirl2013, Thank you!**

**XwwecoyoteX, You hit the nail on the head with that. They both want to do the right thing, but they have different ideas of how. I mean, obviously Roman's is the most sensible, but in Dean's defence, he is learning how to have a partner for the first time ever (not including Seth of course!)**

**Minnie1015, Haha, you've seen nothing yet in the way of cliffhangers (evil laugh). Glad you want to keep the suspense high though!**

**Phoenix lord of rebirth, Aww, thank you so much, I'm glad you're still enjoying it!**

**Here we go again!**

* * *

**TWENTY ONE**

The stupid thing is, he's not angry at Roman. Or okay fine, so maybe he is. But he _gets_ it too. He totally gets it and besides which he's mostly kind of pissed at _himself_ for expecting that the big guy would even _want_ to come with him just two hours after having been run off the road. And yet rather than respond like a rational adult, he had gone and fired the best temp he'd ever had. And possibly the best _friend_ he'd ever had for that matter.

He looks down at Seth,

"Okay, be honest. Did I go in too hard on the whole _you're either with me or you're not_ deal?"

Seth lets out a snort which Dean takes as an affirmative, then growls as a man passes by them in the street. Because Seth could _totally_ be a policeman.

Unlike him.

Dean groans,

"Okay okay. But I mean, it's not like he thought I was _serious_. He knows that I was just kinda _sayin_' stuff, right? Brock what do you think? Got anythin' to say here?"

The big bull mastiff snaps his teeth at a passing moth, then scrambles back as it boops him on the nose tip and clearly scares the crap out of him.

Seth snarls at it.

"Okay _fine_. I'll go round tomorrow an' give him his job back. _Ugh_,yes _and_ apologize dude, get off my back."

Thanks to the fact that his car has been totalled, the walk to St. Francis' takes nearly an hour, although given the crappy freaking day he's been having, the peace and quiet is kind of nice. Not that Cinci is ever totally quiet, but ten o' clock in the winter is about as close as it gets and besides which, he likes to feel the neighborhoods changing and watch the spire of St Francis' begin to get close.

It looks dark inside because it isn't a holiday and he guesses that everyone else has gone home, but having learnt his lesson from the god damn funeral he hitches the dogs to the railings outside and then leaves strict instructions for Seth, who glowers at him.

"Anyone tries to grab ya, you bark for me okay? An' Brock, just try an' look real mean or somethin'."

The mastiff sneezes which unleashes a trail of drool that plasters itself all over the entrance and makes Seth jump backwards in revulsion.

Dean blinks,

"Okay, new plan. Do that."

Not that he likes the thought of leaving them out there and stepping into the towering building alone, since he and god aren't exactly best buddies and creeping in through the doors kind of feels like breaking in. Christ. Maybe Reigns' goodie two shoes-ness has kind of rubbed off on him. And okay, maybe he shouldn't say _Christ_.

He sucks in a breath,

"Okay, wish me luck dudes," then slides through the doors and into the church, where he finds –

Well, nothing. He finds absolutely nothing, since the place is pretty much solidly black. So much so that he walks into a column and then curses instinctively

And also super loudly.

"_Fuck_. Henry?" he calls out into the darkness, rubbing his nose and trying to let his eyes adjust. He can hear distant voices in the gloom somewhere in front of him, so keeps on heading forwards with his hands stuck right out, slowly beginning to notice the pew shapes and the tall aqua columns and the pulpit up ahead. Further behind it he can just make out an outline of a door with light pooling out underneath and so he stumbles towards it – stubbing his foot against the podium – and then barges on through, blinking into the light, which triggers another small bout of sharp cussing,

"Oh holy crap."

"Ambrose? Is that you?"

Lifting his arm up against the harsh halogens, Dean screws his face up and squints into the room, which seems to be some sort of a church office, where Henry and Christopher Hurley are stood. Or more like trying to face off with each other, although both of them have stopped so they can blink at him.

"Uh, hey."

"What in god's name are _you_ doing in here?" Christopher barks, almost hysterical in tone, which is the first clue Dean gets that maybe something is wrong there. Even though in the moment he's too baffled to know what, as both of the Hurleys frown at him in bewilderment.

"What do you mean _what am I doin' here_? Why don't you ask your kid? He's the one that text me, an' hold on a freakin' second, what are _you_ doin' here?"

"That's what I was trying to ask _him_," Henry sniffs back. His fists are balled up, but he has his thumbs on the _insides_ which means the kid has never been in a fight before, or possibly even _witnessed_ one to that point. Dean reaches out and then pushes his hands down.

"Let's just do this before you hurt yourself, alright? There dude, that's better. Now will someone please tell me what the fuck is goin' on here?"

Fuck. He'd said fuck again. Although since they're stood in a crummy little back room he figures it doesn't technically count as the church.

Hurley huffs. _Christopher_ Hurley that is and crap, this is going to be extra difficult.

"I don't know. All I know is that I got a text from Henry asking me to meet him here. Which I _assumed_ was going to be some sort of apology for missing his mother's funeral and yet," he shrugs, "Here we are."

His offspring gapes back at him,

"I didn't miss her funeral. You _didn't invite me_."

"I didn't need to, you were her _son_," Christopher retorts with irrefutable reasoning, "I assumed you would be there as a mark of respect and anyway, why _would_ I invite the man who killed her?"

"_Me_?" Henry shrieks supremely shrilly, "But that was you. You're the person who murdered my mother."

"Why how dare you insinuate – ,"

"_Hey_ – ," Dean bellows out, his gruff bark ringing out over the bickering as he rubs at his temples. He really shouldn't have hit himself at the office before, considering he can sense a freaking _migraine_ developing. Although that might be the episode of Jerry Springer he's walked into.

_Murdered baby mamas and billionaires gone wild._

"Look, how about we try an' freakin' start this thing over. _One at a time_," he snaps as both men open their yaps, before pointing a finger at the younger of the Hurleys, "Okay. _You_ first, what the hell is going on?"

Henry shrugs back at him reluctantly,

"I – I don't know. One of the guys in the squat passed a note to me that said to meet here. I didn't know who it was from. I guessed it was Batista with some new information, but instead _he_ was here."

"Batista?" Hurley gapes, so hard that his eyes nearly pop from their sockets, "My _bodyguard_ has been passing information to you?"

"Yes, which is how I know that it was _you_ who killed my mother."

"How could I kill her? I loved her," Hurley gasps, his eyes filling with tears just like they had done at the funeral. Which makes Dean squirm a little, because they look really real, like maybe Hurley really _had_ adored Ella. Except he couldn't have done, because he'd totally killed her.

Right?

"She was my world," he chokes a bit, "You _both_ were."

"Then why did you drive me away?" Henry asks and oh god, are those tears in _his_ eyes to match his father's? Because if they are then Dean isn't sure he can cope. Where the fuck is freaking Oprah when you need her?

Hurley sniffles,

"I didn't. That was your mother's idea. She thought if we cut off the money, you'd come back to us."

"I thought you'd stopped loving me."

Hurley coughs,

"Never son. You're my child. I could never stop loving you."

"Dad?" Henry bawls, but there isn't a question attached since instead the kid has flung his chubby arms open and is moving towards his father who meets him at once, in what can only be described as a freaking _Hallmark_ moment and a huge fucking colossal freaking waste of Dean's time.

Except for one teeny tiny leftover question.

"So then why did you text us?" Dean frowns across the hug, which breaks things up although not that he's sorry. They can hug on their own time.

Henry frowns,

"Huh?"

"Why the fuck did you text us to come down here?" Dean presses again.

"I – I didn't," Henry shrugs, "I mean, I _couldn't_ have. I lost my cell phone last weekend when the cops came by and raided the squat. Probably because I know too many dangerous secrets."

Dean lifts a brow,

"What? Like the moon landing stuff?"

Not picking up on the withering sarcasm, Henry Hurley nods proudly,

"Yes. Well that and _other_ things."

Behind him his father frowns back in bewilderment,

"So then why would the _police_ text and call us all here? It doesn't make sense."

"No," Dean grumbles darkly, "It doesn't."

Although the hair at the back of his neck is kind of prickling, like he's being an idiot and overlooking something big. Something that was worth trying to run him off the road for, something worth stringing Ella Hurley up for.

Somewhere outside he hears Seth bark sharply, because frankly he would know the pitchy yap _anywhere_ – like a penguin mom finding her chick in a colony like he had seen on a nature documentary once – and it fires a cold bolt of dread through his system. Well, that and the sound of light footsteps from behind.

His back is to the door but he can still see the Hurleys, who look towards the sound and then promptly turn white, like maybe they have seen a damn poltergeist or something.

Dean frowns at them,

"What?" then spins towards the door where a woman has emerged from the shadows with a handgun which yep, of _course_ she's pointing right at his chest. Although as it turns out, that isn't even the kicker.

Not even freaking close to it.

Christopher Hurley lets out a gasp and then drops to the floor like a gothic novel damsel as beside him Henry continues to blink, his eyes raking over the middle aged woman with her blonde hair loosely wrapped up in a shawl, who couldn't freaking _possibly_ be who Dean thinks it is.

No way and no how.

Henry splutters at her,

"_Mom_?"

* * *

**Surprise!**


	22. Twenty Two

**Coming slowly towards our big crescendo now, although there's still time for drama and twists!**

**xXBalorBabeXx, Surprise! And hopefully I've got another surprise coming up in this chapter (evil smile!)**

**Rebel8954, Haha, well, I think I'll be mean and keep you in suspense for a little bit longer. Although I am going to throw you a different bone in this chapter. Hope you like it! (Thank you for asking about my mum. We're trying to stay positive).**

**Mandy, I definitely wanted to surprise everyone and make sure there were lots of twists in this story. So hopefully I'm delivering on that! Thanks for your well wishes. I'm sending mine back and hoping that things are looking up for you.**

**Cheryl24, Well, as they say the truth will out, but first there's another mystery to clear up!**

**Wolfgirl2013, Thank you!**

**Minnie1015, Hmm, yeah, about that...how would you feel if I made you wait a bit longer for the big dramatics? Because I might have one or two other things to unravel first!**

**ViolentHugger03, Glad you're liking it. Can't have a murder mystery without a twist!**

**Phoenix lord of rebirth, Sorry (not sorry) for confusing you, but I was determined to make this story hard to predict! Pretty sure Sherlock would have already solved it though and probably with considerable less cussing than Dean. And with less animals!**

**Skovko, Hmm, well, it turns out that Roman might have his own issues in this chapter. I'm very equal opportunities when it comes to drama!**

**XwwecoyoteX, Hope the wait wasn't too long and you're right, not many chapters left to go now (although we're definitely not done yet!) Glad you liked Dean stuck in the reunion, I figured he would be squirmy in touchy feely moments (not including ones with Roman!)**

**Lunatic789, It's worrying how well Seth fits being a yappy little dog isn't it?!**

**Martha, Aww, I'm so glad you're back and enjoying wrestling fiction again. I totally get being disheartened after Dean/Jon left. Luckily there are always his Roman/Shield years to revel in and rewatch, even though it's not quite the same. Still, that's what writing is for!**

**Who's ready for more drama?!**

* * *

**TWENTY TWO**

"Hey honey, how was work?" Roman's wife asks brightly as he plods into the kitchen and drops down into a chair before swiping a hand over his face and then groaning like he's carrying the weight of the whole entire world. Which honestly it kind of feels like he _is_ doing.

Dean had _fired_ him.

"That good huh?" she kids, making a brave attempt at humor which doesn't make much difference, "Roman? Sweetie what's wrong?"

She's been sitting at the table going over the ER rotas, which technically she isn't meant to do outside of work, but she abandons it at the sight of her dejected looking husband so she can go and stand behind him and wrap her arms around his neck, in a backwards hug that she hopes will be helpful since otherwise she's pretty darn clueless about it all.

"Roman?"

"Ambrose just fired me."

"_What_?"

Shrugging helplessly Roman turns his hands over in some kind of a metaphorical shrug, since with her across his shoulders he can't do the real thing without jerking her or bumping her straight in the chin. Neither of which he's prepared to let happen,

"I said I couldn't go with him to meet an informant, so he fired me."

"Wait, can he _do_ that?" his wife blinks.

Roman grunts,

"I mean, it's his business and if he can't trust me to have his back out there, then I guess there ain't a whole lot more I can do."

"Okay," his wife sighs, unwinding snakelike from around him so she can drop herself down into the chair by his side and take one of his big hot hands between her smaller ones and trace across his life line. Although she's frowning as well, "I'm going to need the whole story now sweetie, because it feels like I'm only getting part of the problem, but I can't make it right until you tell me what's wrong."

Roman blinks. Her momma mode is locked and loaded, which is part of the reason that he loves her so much and is _also_ the reason that there's no point in lying, since she would know in about a second and probably kick his ass.

_Here goes._

"Somebody kinda tried to kill me and Ambrose."

"What?" she squeaks in astonishment, "When?"

"Earlier tonight when we were coming back from Dayton. Damn SUV drove us right off the road. Totalled Dean's car and near enough the two of us with it."

His wife bites her lip,

"And you're sure it was deliberate?"

Roman nods,

"They were wearing ski masks. And the whole time I'm thinking about that promise I made you and how I said I'd pull out if things started getting too hot. Except Ambrose being Ambrose won't call the damn cops in."

"So you mean he's out there on his own?" his wife gasps, which isn't exactly the reaction he'd expected, although she quickly shakes her head again, "No, sorry, you're right. Of course you are sweetie, thank you for keeping your promise, because I know how hard that must have been. Especially with how close you and Dean have gotten lately. But, well, he's a big boy. I'm sure he'll be fine," not that she _sounds_ too sure about it, "And you never know, by tomorrow maybe he'll even have changed his mind and realized that he can't live without you, like we can't."

Roman snorts,

"I wouldn't count on it babe, but hey," he grins, "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Anytime handsome," she winks in response to him, before breaking away as the doorbell suddenly rings and cuts through the sweet little kiss she's going to give him, which is just his damn luck.

She smirks,

"Hold onto that thought," then clambers from the chair to head out into the hallway with a wave of her hand, "I saved you dinner by the way, chicken parmesan, there's some in the oven."

"Love you baby girl," he grins at her.

"Yes you do."

There's a pile of detritus stacked up on the countertop, most of which belongs to their kid who is tucked up safe in her bed above him sleeping while her homework and hair bobbles slowly take over the downstairs, like some sort of glittery, spangly army, which Roman carefully pushes to one side so he can make a little room to get himself dinner, since he'd only had a coffee in the diner beside the road and that had been before the god damn attempted _murder_ and the hour and a half spent listening to Kumbaya. And before his best friend had gone and fired him.

He stops.

Best friend?

He hasn't called Dean that before, or even _had_ a best friend since preschool. Mostly he'd just been part of a team. Peewee, high school, college, the Bengals and besides, he's only known Dean for two weeks, which doesn't seem long enough to become _best friends_ with anyone.

And yet they have. Or okay, fine, _had_, before Ambrose had decided to be a damn idiot and go it alone.

"Roman?"

Huh? He stops and looks up. His wife is stood in the doorway to the kitchen looking wide eyed and unusually stiff, which probably _should_ kind of put him on red alert mode, but because he's so bone weary he just frowns at her instead.

"Baby girl, are you okay? Who was that?"

She shakes her head at him. It isn't a big move, but he catches it all the same at about the same time that the person stood behind her – because damn, how in the hell did he not notice _that_? – pushes her suddenly into the kitchen and then follows her in holding up a damn gun, which he can probably only barely _see_ through the ski mask that he's busy trying to squint through.

Roman's heart falls into his gut. Although there's something else there too, something like anger as he reaches out and pulls his wife to safety behind his back. Her fingers ball up in his jacket,

"Oh god, Roman."

Her husband ignores her,

"What do you want?"

He's furious. God damn _furious_. With himself mostly, because of _course_ the damn assholes who'd tried to run him off the road wouldn't be content with letting him walk away from it. But coming to his _house_ where his wife and his daughter live? Somebody just made an unholy mistake. Even though that _someone_ has a gun and he doesn't. His wife whimpers again and he holds his hands up.

"Look, whatever you think I might know here, you're wrong brother. I'm just Ambrose's office manager alright? And hell I'm not even that anymore now, he fired me earlier."

"You still know too much," it's the first time the man in the mask has said anything and his voice sounds familiar, but it isn't Henry or Chris. Which means he's got no clue who the killer is, or what they might do, "This is the way it has to be. I mean god, we only damn well _hired_ Ambrose to make sure someone saw it. He wasn't supposed to _investigate_."

"He's a PI," Roman shrugs like it's obvious because he needs the gunman to talk some damn more, until he can work out how to get the revolver or possibly figure out who the hell the man is.

Batista?

Nah. Because he's bulky, but not _that_ bulky.

The gunman snorts,

"Oh please. He's a hack. A scruffy, unwashed wannabe policeman. Or, I mean he _was_."

The hairs lift up across Roman's neck and his fists ball tighter than he even thought was possible at what is clearly a muffled grin beneath the ski mask.

"You son of a bitch," his wife shuffles in a little closer to his jacket, or possibly flinches, "What did you do to him?" the gun barrel lifts up and he holds his hands up again, "Hey, whoa."

"The same thing I'm going to do to you. Which I'm sorry for, really I am, but you know too much and we have worked _too_ hard for our plan to be ruined by a couple of do gooders. Now, please send Mrs Reigns out of the room."

His wife blinks,

"What?"

Roman nods,

"Do what he says baby girl."

"No," she shakes her head, "I'm not leaving you. I won't."

The gunman waggles the revolver around angrily and why the _hell_ does his voice sound so familiar?

"_Now_. Unless you want your child to be orphaned?"

"Baby girl," Roman rumbles at her, "Listen to me – ,"

The tension in the kitchen feels like some sort of powder keg, with the gunman the jittery asshole who's in charge of the match. One false move, or word could be curtains, which is why the tiny voice from upstairs startles them all as it calls down the stairs, unaware of the danger, or the soon to be double homicide.

"Mama, I'm thirsty. I can't sleep."

Roman moves.

As the gunman swings in a panic towards the hallway, the big man launches across the kitchen like a dart, pushing his wife down low under the counter and then throwing himself in his best football tackle at Ski Mask. Which okay, may be a little bit rusty after a whole year spent _not_ doing it. But evidently it still works well enough, since the pair of them go down like a god damn building and topple over the coffee table as his wife screams loudly behind him,

"_No_."

"You son of a bitch," Roman yells, not able to hear her over the thud of his heartbeat, which is pounding at double time in his ears, "You come into _my_ house and threaten _my_ family."

Reaching down he rips off the mask and is stunned to see, not Batista, or Hackett, or Christopher or Henry or even Kumbaya _Tad_ staring back.

But god damn Doctor Merrick of all people.

_Doctor Merrick_.

He blinks,

"What the hell?"

Which allows the turncoat physician to get his knee up and bury it into the former football player's gut. Hissing, Roman drops to the floor one handed, which gives Doctor Merrick time to wriggle back to his feet and then aim the barrel of the gun into his temple before clicking back the hammer.

"So long big man."

BAM.

Except the blast from the chamber sounds more _hollow_ than he expects it and not so explosive or even remotely like a gun. Which is probably because it isn't actually a gun noise, Roman realizes when he chances a look up and finds his wife stood over Merrick's body with her hair in disarray and the marble rolling pin he had bought her for Christmas raised high in the air.

"Oh god," she covers her mouth, "Is he dead?"

Crawling over the fallen physician Roman checks for a pulse and then shakes his head,

"No. He's alive."

"Oh thank god," her arm slumps weakly and she sags back against the table, "I – I thought he was, I mean I thought he was going to shoot you and – ,"

"Ssh," he pulls her closer, "It's okay, it's okay. You did the right thing. Damn, I'm proud of you baby.

His poor wife is shaking harder than a leaf, which is hardly surprising. Although at least she _is_ shaking instead of the alternative.

At least they _both_ are.

"Mama?"

"Baby girl, you stay up there," Roman yells up the stairs at his daughter as the floorboards above them creak, "Everything's okay. Your mama just knocked a couple of pans over."

Below them, face first on the floor of the living room, Doctor Merrick lets out a low grunt, which probably translates to _what the hell happened_ or possibly_ where am I_, or more likely _who am I_. Which is frankly the least he deserves all things considered.

Although they still have one more problem.

"What about Dean?" his wife asks as Roman steps over their smashed up coffee table and ducks down beside the doctor.

"My question exactly. Where is he?"

"Nuh," Doctor Merrick blinks up in confusion.

Roman grabs his collar and then rattles him.

Hard.

"_Where_? Where's my brother, what the hell did you do to him?"

"You're bro – brother?" Merrick repeats, as Roman's wife picks up the phone and then dials nine-one-one, which means that the shock is slowing ebbing away from her and letting her nurse and mama settings return.

"Ambrose," Roman rumbles in his lowest tones, "Where is he? Because if you've hurt him somehow, then I swear to _god_ – ,"

Merrick shakes his head,

"Not me. That was _her_ part. _She_ was going to get Chris and Henry and uh, _Dean_."

"Where?" Roman roars, which clearly worsens the concussion that The Global Fund creator is probably nursing, "Tell me where."

"St. Francis Xavier," Merrick groans before slumping back down onto the floor, like a teenager refusing to get up before lunchtime. The church. Okay, the church was good, since it meant that whoever was waiting for Ambrose hadn't taken him elsewhere. Roman's wife picks the gun up and then points it determinedly at their intruder. She has the phone wedged under her chin,

"Roman, you need to go."

He blinks at her,

"But – ,"

"Don't worry, I've got this. My dad used to take me to the range all the time and besides, the police are already on their way. Honey, go and check on your partner."

Holy crap he loves her so much.

Kicking Doctor Merrick as he clumsily steps over him, which may or may not be an accident – it's not – he stops and kisses his wife on the cheekbone. He can he still feel her shaking,

"You sure you're okay?"

"Go," she urges, pushing him gently, "Go and save your brother, okay? Oh and Roman, just promise you'll be careful."

"Don't worry baby girl," he nods back, "I got a plan."

* * *

**Run Roman, run!**


	23. Twenty Three

**Time to find out what's been going on!**

**xXBalorBabeXx, Yes, yes she is. Or at least when her family is threatened! Like husband, like wife!**

**Cheryl24, I'm glad you asked! Hopefully this chapter will clear a lot of things up.**

**Mandy, I'm so sorry your dad isn't doing so well and I'm sorry that you're having a bad time too. Try to remember that while every day might not be good, there is still good in every day, you just need to look for it. Big hugs.**

**ViolentHugger03, Can't beat a good female villain every now and again. Keeps things interesting (I hope!)**

**Phoenix lord of rebirth, Yep, it was sneaky Dr. Merrick the whole time. Although I guess he's really only the sidekick to the big bad at this point. Expect revelations to come!**

**Rebel8954, I sort of see Seth and Roman's wife becoming a badass double act keeping Dean and Roman in line more than anything. If this was a 70's show, they would have their own spinoff for sure!**

**Wolfgirl2013, Thaaaanks!**

**Skovko, Maybe...but first we've got a motive to untangle and a few more twists and turns to come!**

**Lunatic789, Possibly. Possibly not (although there will definitely be feels coming. Not that I'll be saying if they're good or bad…)**

**Martha, Yep, mess with the things Roman cares about and he's going to mess **_**you**_ **up in turn (or his wife will, but eh, same difference!)**

**XwwecoyoteX, Ooh, I'm glad I fooled you with Merrick. Plus, Roman's wife is very cool. Imagine how kickass their daughter is going to be when she's older (haha). Hmm, no, I've never read the Alpha Omega series, but rolling pins are always a useful kitchen item to have to hand! Good for pastry **_**and**_ **when murderous doctors come a-calling.**

**Minnie1015, Lol. I'm sure Mrs Reigns will be very proud you want to be just like her, although hopefully minus the homicidal doctor part! Yay, I hoped Merrick would be a curveball. Now I only hope the rest of this makes sense (fingers crossed!)**

**Here we go then folks. Answers...**

* * *

**TWENTY THREE**

For a woman who had supposedly been stone cold dead for the last two weeks, Ella Hurley is surprisingly switched on when it comes to the business of holding people at gunpoint at nearly freaking midnight in the middle of a church. Because first she makes Christopher and Henry tie Dean up and _then_ she makes her husband tie up their own son, before doing the honors herself for her beloved, after having made them first march back into the chancel where three chairs have been set up and where the lights are back on. Or at least the lights are on where _they_ are. The rest of the place however is still buried in gloom, which makes the whole thing seem even _more _frustrating. Because how has _she_ found the light switch? What the fuck is _that_ about?

For their part and possibly none too surprisingly, Christopher and Henry are sort of blinking in shock, which is probably split between being taken captive and their wife and mother being, well, _not_ dead. Oh, and possibly the gun she is carrying.

Because that's not a good sign.

Dean twists at the ropes, which he had hoped the Hurley men would be smart enough to tie loosely, to give themselves at least _some_ chance of escape. But nope. They're instead they're pulled as tight as a duck's ass, which means he needs to buy some time to think of something. Which also means one thing. He needs to talk her up. _Her_. The woman he's being trying to avenge all week. Her. The woman who _isn't freaking dead_. Which he figures seems like as good a place to start as any since she's pacing around in the front of them like a proud looking cat.

He scowls,

"Okay. Congratulations, you got us. A billionaire, a nerd an' a private detective who was too busy dealin' with these two idiots to freakin' hear you sneakin' up."

"_Hey_," Henry Hurley frowns back, probably at the _nerd_ thing, or the _idiot_ part maybe, but which Dean ignores pointedly because he freaking well _is_.

"So what now, huh? I mean, what's goin' on here? Is this the part where you reveal your evil plan an' tell us how you faked your own suicide an' oh holy crap, you _totalled_ my car."

He shouts the last part into the chancel as the realization hits him smack between the eyes and in response Ella Hurley smiles winningly at him and then crinkles her nose cutely. She's not the woman from the park. Or _probably_ not. Dean's not a hundred percent on that one, because honestly, they both look pretty much the same and he can't get a look at the hair beneath the headscarf since it's pulled too tight and she keeps moving around.

"Oh please. That wasn't a _car_. It was a scrapheap, we did you a favor driving the damn thing off the road and besides, you can't honestly say we didn't warn you."

She uses the gun to point towards his eye, which is a lot less swollen now that it had been, but is still sort of yellow and mottled looking around the bone, from where the big guy in the ski mask had jumped him.

He blinks,

"Hold on a freakin' second, that was _you_? _You_ were the other one there in the dog park? So who the hell was the first guy? And the driver tonight? Who the hell has been doing this with you?"

"What are you talking about Ambrose? Been doing what?" Christopher Hurley puts in from beside him, looking as lost as a god damn nun in a whorehouse. Or possibly _Henry _Hurley in a whorehouse. Because no way in hell has that kid ever been laid.

"You _wife_ here," Dean spits the word out bitterly, "Is the one who paid me a little visit the other night and tried to cream my head on a park bench _and_ she's the person who ran me off the road."

"But _why_?" Hurley splutters, "I don't understand it."

In response, Ella snorts at him resentfully.

"_Huh_. You never really were very smart were you honey bun?" her tone is practically dripping with scorn, which makes it double hard that the woman stood in front of them is the one that Dean has been blaming himself for. The woman he felt he hadn't protected and had wanted justice for. He'd even _fired his best friend_ because the guilt of having failed her had been so consuming. And yet, there she was being a murderous bitch and not only that, but a god damn freaking _cruel_ one.

Christopher blinks at her,

"What do you mean?"

"I _mean_," she snarls, whipping the gun in his direction and making them all tense against the backs of their chairs. Dean tries again with the ropework. Nothing, "I _mean_ we were married for twenty six years and in all of that time you never _once_ figured out how much I hate you."

_Whoa_. Low blow. Henry Hurley lets out a gasp, whereas Christopher decides that disbelief is the better option, which is hardly surprising. He shakes his head,

"You don't mean that."

Ella lifts a bored looking eyebrow,

"Is that right? So I _didn't_ hate being married to the serial philanderer who snuck away from every single party we ever held to have a five minute stand with some twenty year old waitress, or our nanny or even the fucking _coat check girl_ and who hit on my roommate when I was in _therapy_."

"Ha. I freakin' knew it," Dean hisses in the pause, which doesn't really help. Everyone just sort of stares at him, "Oh sure, _I'm_ the crazy one. _Hello_? She has a gun."

Henry Hurley leans forward,

"Is that true dad?"

In all of the excitement his thick rimmed glasses have steamed up, so in the end what he _actually_ asks is the lectern, although his father still responds like he hasn't.

"Of course not. Damn it Ella, I said that was an accident," he's pulling against the ropes around his hands as he huffs, like outrage alone might make the knots loosen, "And those other _dalliances_ were all in the past. Besides which, they hardly make up for whatever the hell _this_ is. I mean, for god sakes woman, I saw you _dead_."

Henry Hurley rocks forward in eagerness,

"W-wait," he splutters, "I've read about this. Lewis and I did a story for the website. In certain conditions a potent cocktail of chemicals and exposure to cold water could send someone to sleep and make their vital signs seem nearly invisible to the naked human eye. Then, all you would need is an accomplice on the inside to swap your body with a Jane Doe and let you out of the morgue," he seems wide eyed with Murder She Wrote style excitement, although Dean has a sneaking suspicion it isn't that, since suddenly what has _actually _happened seems obvious. Well, obvious and gut wrenching, "Is-is that what you did?"

Dean sets his jaw,

"No, she murdered her roommate an' then strung her up to make it _look _like her."

"Oh."

In response Ella Hurley wiggles her eyebrows, then taps on her nose and points the gun at him,

"Bingo."

Christopher nearly tips over sideways,

"You did _what_?"

"She wanted to help," Ella shrugs, not showing so much as an inch of emotion, which was always a good sign in a hostage situation. Not, "I mean at first we were simply going to fleece you, but after I came in and saw you and her I decided to switch my grand plan up a little and pretend to be dead. Using _her_ body of course."

"So it _was_ her I met that night," Dean snorts bitterly, "_That's_ why she liked Seth."

It's not a question as such, but since Ella seems to have watched too many Bond films and is clearly revelling in the geniusness of her plan, she shrugs and decides to pretend that it is one,

"She didn't take a lot of convincing to do that and I mean, we _did_ look pretty similar after all. Poor girl, she thought I'd already fled the country and that she was helping to set me up with an alibi for when _Christopher_ over here met a sticky end for being the worst damn husband in the universe. Which of course, was never the plan. But then again _she_ wasn't to know that. Poor bitch would have done anything I asked and it wasn't like she had much of a life left anyway. I mean, Christ, she even dyed her damn hair. Never saw it coming for a second."

"Wait, so it was _her_ I saw in the morgue?" Christopher Hurley chips in in astonishment, two minutes slower than everyone else, "No. It _couldn't_ have been. She was wearing your wedding ring."

"Well I didn't want the damn thing," Ella shrugs as Dean cranes his head to one side in bewilderment, which really hurts his arms and his shoulders.

Okay, fuck.

"Hold on a freakin' second, but are you saying when you looked at her, when they _took you to ID her_ you only looked at her _hand_?"

Christopher Hurley looks down at his kneecaps,

"Well, I mean _possibly_."

"Oh Jesus freakin' Christ."

"Language," Ella snaps, waving the gun in Dean's direction, "We're in a church here."

Dean blinks at her,

"Seriously? Murder's okay but you draw the line at a little cussin'?"

She walks in closer and prods the gun to his temple, which does the trick convincing him it's best to be quiet and which could go either way until Henry sucks a sob in and then shakes his shaggy head. He sounds broken,

"Why mom, _why_?"

As Ella wheels away Dean blows a thankful sigh out and then tries to prize his hands free again. The ropes rub into his skin and make him grumble, but he keeps working at them because he _has_ to get free. Since it seems unlikely that Christopher Hurley or freaking _Gunhawk_ are going to do it and rescue their hides.

Ella seems to soften a little.

A _very_ little.

Sort of _minutely_, but it's there nonetheless.

"Because I wanted a new start Henry."

"So then why not get a divorce?"

"Because your _father_," Ella Hurley spits the word out in fury, "Made me sign a prenup when the two of us got married, which meant that if I walked away I would get nothing. Not a dime. Despite the fact that every decent decision he's made in the last twenty years has been mine. Despite the fact that he's cheated on me constantly and made me feel like I was worthless."

"I never meant to,"

"_Shut up_," spinning around she points the gun at her husband and then wipes away what looks like an unsteady tear as her voice rings wildly around the high vaulting and off the aqua columns. She looks unhinged, "You _shut up_."

Frankly Dean figures that he should probably let her shoot him. Not so much for all the cheating but having not looked properly in morgue, which if he _had_ could have saved them this trouble. Not to mention his god damn _car_. But instead for some reason, rather than letting her shoot him, he tries to distract her.

"So who's the accomplice, huh? Is it Batista? Because m' goin' with Batista. What? Did he notice how lonely you were? Offer to help you get rid of your husband if you split the money with him."

Ella blinks at him. Then laughs, which okay, so isn't the reaction he'd hoped for.

"Batista?" she snorts, "Call yourself a private eye? You really think I would go for _that _mammoth after everything I went through with my husband? _God_ no."

"So then, who is it?"

Ella shrugs,

"Howard Merrick."

"_Merrick_?" Dean gapes, "Wait, Doctor _Smoothie_ beat me up an' then freakin' checked on my eye in _his_ clinic? Doctor Merrick tried to drive my freakin' _car_ off the road?"

"He loves me," Ella blinks, as if the answer is obvious, "We want to be together."

"Hold on here, Howard _Merrick_?" Christopher Hurley gasps, doing his whole five-minutes-behind thing, "But, The Global Fund."

Oh.

Dean wants to slap his himself.

_Ohhhh_.

"_That's_ why he set that whole freakin' deal up," he growls, as Christopher does his best impression of a fish. Opening and closing his mouth without speaking, "He doesn't give a fuck about makin' folk better, or helpin' people pay for mental healthcare an' all that crap. That was just a way of gettin' more Hurley money. You freakin' _knew_ ol' heartbroken Chris here would donate a whole ton, an' then you an' the good doctor would take it an' fuckin' scarper. What was the plan, huh? Lemme guess. It was Maui, or no, somewhere further, like Bora Bora?"

Wherever _that_ is, since geography has never exactly been his strong suit.

The murderess smiles,

"Well, what do you know. Perhaps you aren't such a poor detective after all. It's kind of a pity I have to kill you," she aims the gun at his head and his plans for getting his hands free die rapidly, "Goodbye Mr. Ambrose. Oh and by the way, it was Martinique."

* * *

**I'm saying nothing...**


	24. Twenty Four

**Here we go then everyone. It's crunch time!**

**xXBalorBabeXx, Yep, Ella is definitely not a nice person!**

**Wolfgirl2013, Thank you!**

**Minnie1015, Oops (guilty face) although to be fair, I never promised **_**when**_** I would save Dean. Or even if…(evil cackle) Aww, thanks for the compliments on my plot. I actually really enjoyed writing a twisty murder mystery. Top tip; start with who did the crime and then work backwards!**

**Rebel8954, I think it's safe to say that neither you **_**or**_** Dean saw it coming! As for Seth? Well, guess you'll just have to wait and see…**

**Mandy, Aww, best of luck for your phone interviews. Keep on channelling that inner eye patch Mox and pretend he's hanging over your shoulder encouraging you to do well! Mum is doing okay thank you. Now, did I hear you calling for Roman? Hmm, better see what I can do in this chapter!**

**XwwecoyoteX, Yay! Glad you liked all the twisty bits. It's so hard knowing how obvious or not things seem when you know who did it as you're writing! Yep, Dean needs **_**all**_** his dogs to come help. Especially his big dog (and I'm not talking about Brock!)**

**Skovko, *trumpet sounds* Puppy Power!**

**Cheryl24, Hmm, funny you should ask about Henry, because as it turns out, the revelations aren't quite over!**

**Martha, I wonder who that might be? (Haha, just kidding). Expect a whole lot going on in this chapter though!**

**Notokwiththat, Hi and welcome to the party. Well, I often say that hurt Dean and comforting Roman is my speciality (and guilty pleasure) so I guess you'll just have to wait and find out if I've carried it into this story as well (honestly, the chances are high!)**

**Lunatic789, Well, if you thought that was intense, you might want to strap in for this chapter as well! Hope you love it as much as the last one!**

**Phoenix lord of rebirth, Yay! I'm so glad you liked it! I really enjoyed writing that chapter (because the villain always has to reveal their plot in these things!) but not as much as I enjoyed writing this one...**

**I-Am-WarKitten, Definitely close. Now, the question is do I save Dean or not? Hmm...**

**Ready?**

* * *

**TWENTY FOUR**

The worst part about his life flashing before him, is that only the bad stuff seems to show up. Like the time his dog had died back in high school. Even though it _technically_ hadn't been his dog, since it had just been some stray that had been in the neighborhood that he had brought home one day and which had _not_ gone down well. Because, yep, new flashback — his mom's asshole boyfriend beating the living crap out of him for bringing home a dog without asking him first.

Dogs. _Crap_.

He hopes someone nice takes Seth and Brock in. Maybe even Roman when the big guy finds out he's dead. Which would kind of be nice, because Seth likes Roman and Roman's wife and _especially_ his kid. Not that it much helps poor Carl the pigeon. Still, Carl's ballsy, so he'll probably be fine.

As Ella pulls the hammer back into place he squeezes his eyes shut and then braces for the bang.

Which never comes.

"Don't do this mom," Henry Hurley breaks in through the madness, "You, you can't _kill_ us. I mean, you're my mother. You gave birth to me, so — ,"

Ella lets out a laugh which cuts in cruelly and okay, somewhat _bizarrely_ through his pleading, like she knows something he doesn't. In the pause Dean twists his hands and tries to reach up to the end of the knotwork so he can tease free an end.

"Oh my god. You still don't know. You, the guy who runs a website on conspiracies and uncovering the truth," Ella snorts, "You _still_ don't know."

Henry blinks like an owl through his spectacles,

"Know — know what?"

"Don't listen to her son," Christopher Hurley puts in suddenly, also trying to loosen his own knots, except with more grunting and wincing than Dean's doing, which makes it a lot more obvious and hopeless as well, since Ella simply turns the gun in his direction which makes the billionaire panic and freeze up.

_Gulp_.

"Know _what_?" Henry repeats again a little clearer, although he's turned completely beetroot and his glasses have steamed back up. Dear god, Dean is caught in an episode of _Passions_.

Ella shrugs coolly,

"That I'm not your real mom. Your _real_ mom was a maid that we hired for about a second, which was all it took your _father_ here to go and get the stupid bitch pregnant."

Henry gapes at her open mouthed,

"No."

Christ. No wonder she was done with her husband, Dean even wants to freaking box him in the head, which he will do just as soon as he gets his damn hands free.

"Which is why, on second thoughts, I'll maybe start with you instead," she pushes the barrel of the gun towards Christopher, who sits back in panic, "I've waited _years_ for this."

Although yet _again_ her attempt is interrupted by someone suddenly calling out of the blue — or out of the dark, because that's where it comes from — in low even tones that sound unnaturally calm. Not to mention unnaturally _familiar_.

"Easy baby girl. You don't wanna do this."

Holy shit. _Roman_?

"Who's there?" Ella barks, pointing the gun into the darkness but clearly not entirely sure where to fire. Even though it still makes Dean's heart kind of somersault. Because no freaking _way_ does he want his brother to get shot and especially because there's going to be a whole lot of paperwork he needs to help file when the case is wrapped up. Provided that Ella doesn't murder the lot of them, which he can't be too sure of.

"Roman, get out of here."

"Nah," his voice rings back for the second time, super chilled sounding but also kind of dangerous, "Think I might hang around here. Make sure this bitch doesn't murder my partner."

_Whoa_. Go Reigns.

Ella trembles with rage, or possibly from the fact that for the first time that evening, she possibly _isn't_ one hundred percent in control,

"Where are you? Come out. Come out or I start shooting."

"You sure about that?" the big man rumbles back, stepping out of the dark church shadows in front of them holding —

Dean squints.

Holy crap. Is that a _gun_? Because where in the hell did Reigns get a _gun _from? Not that Dean can see too well from where he is, since the chair he's tied to is pointed at the altar, which means he has to crane his neck around to get a look. Which hurts like a bitch. Or hurts like Ella Hurley, which Reigns has established is pretty much the same thing.

Speaking of bitches, Ella Hurley screams at him,

"Where's Howard. _Where is he_?"

"You mean Merrick?" Roman chirps, moving steadily closer towards them, but keeping his gun trained on the woman the whole time, "He got held up. The police wanted to talk to him and I'm guessing that they're going to wanna talk to you too. So how about you do the right thing and put the gun down?"

"No," Ella shrieks like a banshee, "They have to die."

Although Dean can see the moment that her confidence leaves her and presumably her plans for Bora Bora too. Or no, where was it again? _Martin_ something? In blind panic she aims the gun at Henry again, who shuffles himself back into his chair and then swallows.

"I'll kill him," she bellows, "I'll kill him."

"No you won't," Roman responds stepping in even closer, to the point that he's almost cleared the dark wooden pews, but is not close _enough_ to make a launch for the firearm or tackle it away from her, "You wouldn't kill your own son. Because, I mean sure, you're a whole lot of evil, but you're not _that_ evil."

"He's not my son."

"Yes he is," Roman insists. And okay, so it's not an episode of _Passions_, because Dean is in a _Doctor Phil _special instead, "I mean, you might not be the one who gave birth to him, but you loved him and took care of him. That makes him your son, so I don't believe for one second here that you'd hurt him. Him _or_ your husband."

The gun trembles in her hand and tears start to well in her cold, hard eyeballs. For a second at least, because then they're all gone as instead she prods the barrel right into Dean's forehead, so that he's forced to lean backwards,

"Maybe not. But I'll kill him."

"No you won't," Roman chuckles — _chuckles_ — back at her, which doesn't go down especially well, given that Ella grits her teeth in pure fury and then pushes the gun barrel further into his head. She's right on the cusp of losing her senses.

Dean swallows nervously,

"Uh, hey listen big guy. I mean, not that I don't like, _appreciate_ you comin' down here, but could you _stop freakin' helpin'_?"

Ella pushes again and he breaks off with a groan as his neck complains bitterly and his shoulders _and_ the arms that are pinned behind his back. Behind him hears Roman step in a final time, sounding more pissed than ever,

"Damn it Ella, let him go."

She sneers,

"Oh please. Is this you trying to negotiate? Well nice try handsome, but it's not going to work. I mean, you don't even know what you're doing."

"No, but I do."

Huh?

They all swing around, peering to the left where the _new_ voice has come from just in time to see Detective freaking _Hackett_ stepping out, flanked by a half a dozen of his colleagues in Cincinnati's finest shades of gold and deep blue.

"Now do what he says Mrs Hurley and put the gun down," the old timer grumbles and with a measure of weariness, like he resents having to be there trying to take down a standoff at nearly gone twelve o' clock at night. Or maybe like he's missing old reruns of _The Ed Sullivan Show_, "We have your associate in custody. It's over, so how about we end this nice and peacefully now?"

"_No_."

As Ella pushes the gun in further, Dean hears something in his neck sort of _click_ and in response the whole room and the cops and Roman seem to tense up around him. Yeah, like they _hadn't_ been before.

"No," Ella repeats, "No, it's not over, because I still have a hostage and if you want him to live then I want a car out of here and a million dollars. No, _two_ million dollars."

In response Hackett glares across the church in resentment, but otherwise doesn't move.

Ella prods again,

"_Now_."

Except before anyone jumps to carry her demands out — or probably more likely try to tell her _no dice_ — they are all interrupted by a tiny _tap-tap_ noise making its way down the central church aisle, which kind of sounds like a scrabbling animal.

Or make that _two_ scrabbling animals.

Seth comes into view first, bursting from the darkness like he's been shot from a cannon and ploughing headfirst into Ella Hurley's legs, which knocks the baffled looking murderess backwards so that the gun barrel _finally_ moves away from Dean's head. As she looks down to try and see what is happening, Brock lumbers up trailing a litre of drool and launches his front paws up into her midriff, which makes her trip clumsily over the altar and flip back over it with a horrified squeal. The gun goes off with a blast towards the vaulting and the entire police department — and Henry and Christopher and Roman and even Detective _Hackett_ — seem to flinch, although the noise is quickly drowned out by the screeching ringing out from behind the altar,

"No, not dogs. I hate dogs, I _hate_ them. No. Someone get rid of them. Get these mutts _off_ me."

"Babe?" Roman calls out, crossing the last few feet of the aisle in what Dean figures must be his football player run, as in front of them Hackett and several men in uniform try and wrestle Seth and Brock back and then swipe up the gun, "Babe? Are you okay?"

Dean drops his head forwards, which hurts, but feels nice.

Oh fuck. _So_ nice.

"Yeah," he nods. Which _also_ hurts, "Yeah, m' okay. But, what the fuck are _you_ doin' here?"

"Merrick showed up at my house," Roman rumbles, instantly ducking down low behind the chair and then beginning to unravel the freaking _ball_ of knotwork that Henry and Christopher had fudged together earlier on, like the pair of them had been going for their rope badge on a weekend campout for the god damn _sea cadets_, "Put a gun to my wife and then tried to kill me in my own god damn kitchen. Said his buddy was going to do the same to you. So I figured you might need a little help from your partner."

"Fuck," Dean gapes, "Is everyone okay? Like your wife an' your kid? He didn't like, freakin' _hurt_ 'em?"

"Nah," Roman grins, wiggling at the last knot and although Dean can't see the bigger man's expression, it kind of sounds like he's smiling, which is probably from the shock, "They're okay. A little bit shaken maybe. My wife hit Merrick with a rolling pin."

"Crap," Dean snorts back in what is meant to be approval, but it comes out at the same time that his bindings fall loose, which means it ends up sounding orgasmic and low and thankful, "Oh holy crap."

"Better?"

"Yeah," he nods, "That's better."

In response Roman lays a palm over his nape and then begins to knead at the muscles, which is practically heaven after being all jacked up. In front of them Ella is being dragged to her feet again, spitting and snarling like some kind of feral dog and squealing with terror as Seth nips at her ankles and froths at the mouth. Her headscarf has come loose and she looks about as far from Classic Hollywood stylings as it seems possible to get. Which is the least she deserves.

"Hey uce?" Dean groans as she is hauled away from them, by what in the end takes _eight_ combined cops. His voice has a tiny sort of _hitch_ sound to it which he isn't expecting, "She killed Jennifer."

"I know," Roman's hand tightens over his neckline, grounding him, "I know. I know she did babe. But at least we did what we promised her parents. We found her."

"Yeah."

Although it doesn't feel enough.

Seth comes proudly trotting back over, holding a piece of Ella's headscarf in his mouth and Dean bends down and scoops the mutt closer, which for once the cotton ball doesn't snap at him for.

"And as for you, ya little freakin' savage," he scruffs the white hair up fondly, "Thanks man."

Somewhere in the distance Henry and Christopher are hugging, which seems like a nice resolution to _that_. Because who would have thought the way to unify a family would be to break the bombshell news that their wife and mother was a fraud and to truss them up in a Catholic place of worship and nearly blow both of their idiot brains out?

Life is funny like that sometimes.

"So," Roman sighs, moving round to stand in front of him and then pulling Dean back up onto his weary feeling feet, "Does saving your ass mean I'm no longer fired?"

Dean screws his face up like he's thinking about it,

"_Well_. I mean, I _guess_ I could put you on probation, as long as you tell me one thing."

"What's that?"

"Where in the hell did _you_ get a gun from?"

Roman chuckles and then lifts the thing up, before pulling the trigger with a shrug of his shoulders and letting the tiny little flame flicker out.

"Before I came here I kinda stopped by the office, thought it might help if it looked like I was armed."

Beyond them Hackett is shouting out orders as more and more bewildered looking cops start to arrive and even the big old bodyguard Batista who looks wide eyed with panic. Hackett is chewing a cigar again, but he meets Dean's gaze over all of the madness and winks at him fondly. Or _semi _fondly perhaps. Or maybe he's got something in his eye and he's really pissed at him, but either way the private eye doesn't mind.

He grins,

"Nice idea uce, wonder where you got it from."

Roman snorts back at him. But unlike Hackett the sound _is_ fond, which he makes even clearer by tousling Dean's hair up and then pulling him in closer.

"Who else babe? My best friend."

* * *

**Aww. Who requested feels? Still got a couple of chapters left so we can wrap things up, so hopefully I'll see you back here next week. Same time, same place!**


	25. Twenty Five

**Are we all ready for the penultimate chapter? I sure hope so!**

**xXBalorBabeXx, Hmm, I never considered that. But no, I don't think she did. I imagine Christopher paid Henry's real mother off. So let's believe she's alive and well!**

**Rebel8954, Haha. Well, maybe some of Ella's hair was wrapped up in the bit of scarf Seth brought back too?! As for Dean, well, let's just say there's still another chapter to come!**

**Cheryl24, Brock and Seth are definitely going to be rewarded for their efforts. In other news, I don't think Dean and Roman are going to have to worry about new cases…**

**Wolfgirl2013, Aww, thanks!**

**Mandy, Yep, that last chapter was a Shield reunion (plus a slobbering Brock!) Plus it was about time that Roman did something badass. It had been too long! Fingers crossed that the interview went well. Sending positive thoughts!**

**Phoenix lord of rebirth, I'm glad you liked it! No story is complete with Roman saving the day in some sense (although, okay, well might have to hand that last one to Seth. He certainly tipped the balance anyway!) Just some loose ends to tie up now.**

**Skovko, Haha, you did call it. But Brock helped too...sort of...in his own way!**

**ViolentHugger03, Yep, all the feels! Love me some good bromantic drama (and whatever the Seth-as-a-dog-version would be called...dogmantic? Nope, that just sounds weird!)**

**Minnie1015, Hey, Roman tried to help. It's not his fault he was upstaged by a tiny but deadly Pomeranian with a killer wardrobe and zero chill, lol!**

**Martha, Can't have a Roman/Dean buddy story without Roman being all touchy feely somewhere! I think that's what I miss most about them being on tv together, Roman always pawing Dean (thank god for fan fiction writing!)**

**HannonsPen, Haha, wait for it! But yes, there's definitely more. Got a few loose ends still to tie up, mostly in this chapter, but the final **_**final**_ **chapter is going to be the real cherry (I like to think!)**

**Let's do it...**

* * *

**TWENTY FIVE**

Seth and Brock get medals of valor from the city, which is how Brock's _real_ owner eventually manages to track him down. She's a tiny little thing, pushing somewhere around eighty and with a look of Sophia from the freaking _Golden Girls_ whose grandson had apparently lost control of _Pumpkin_ — because no freaking kidding, that is _actually_ his name — when the great big lug had been scared by a car backfiring. Which if nothing else had totally sounded like Brock. Or _Pumpkin_ as Dean would officially never be calling him and not that he'd been happy about the whole thing.

"Oh come _on_ uce," he'd huffed as they had stood in a dog park over on the city's fashionable west side, surrounded by nice big, well-kept looking houses and fancy cars and landscaping and a whole lot of plants, "I mean, how do we know this old broad is who she says she is? I mean, what if she just saw Brock on the news, an' wants him as a guard dog or for dog fightin' or somethin'?"

"Who, _him_?"

Roman had asked, pointing down at the mutt, who had been busy backing up in blind terror from a Twinkie wrapper that had been blowing his way in the pre-Christmas wind.

Dean had shrugged,

"He's not scared, he's just _cautious_."

Roman had snorted,

"Whatever you say babe, whatever you say."

In the end however and in spite of Dean's insistence on giving the elderly lady a proper check — and a brief but way too earnest suggestion of making her sit through a polygraph test — all of his doubts had gone out of the window on seeing Brock's reaction.

And the woman's.

"_Pumpkin_."

Dean had shuddered a little bit at that one and then almost been pulled over as Brock had strained against the leash and _whimpered_. Dean had never once heard him whimper, which had kind of sealed the deal. Even freaking _Seth_ had gone over and licked her and so had Roman.

Gone over that is. Not the licking her part.

"Mrs Nugent?"

"Oh yes, you must be Mr Ambrose," the white haired lady had beamed, shoving her glasses up her nose and then shaking his hand so hard she'd nearly squashed it, "Thank you so much for looking after my boy. Goodness I've been _so_ worried about him."

Roman had pulled his hand free with a wince,

"Uh, no ma'am, I'm Mr Reigns. Mr _Ambrose _is that one."

Dean had shuffled forward for some hand squeezing of his own, scratching his head so damn hard in the process that Roman had reached out and had to swat his hand down before the old lady had assumed he'd had fleas, although in the end she hadn't taken his hand anyway, since instead she had hugged him.

Freaking _hugged_ him.

Super hard.

"Thank you Mr Ambrose, thank you for saving him."

"Uh," Dean had winced, because Christ she'd been strong, "No, no problem. I uh, brought him like a going away burrito. Because they're his favorite or whatever."

He had offered out a bag and the almost ungodly strong Mrs Nugent had taken it and then pinched his cheek,

"You're a very sweet man."

Not that it had made the goodbye any easier as Roman and Seth had stood back and watched and as Brock had sat and tried to lick his own ballsack, which had seemed fitting really.

"Uh, see ya round dude. An' just, try not to get yourself into any more trouble, 'kay?"

Brock had put a massive beige paw on his wrist, which Dean had taken to mean, _same for you buddy_ and then planted a drool of slobber over his face as sweet old Mrs Nugent had chuckled at him in the background,

"Ooh, he must really like you."

"Feeling's mutual," Dean had huffed, as Roman as stepped forward to slap him on the shoulder and pass Seth across, which had actually kind of helped. As had the two thousand dollars she had given them.

"A finder's fee," she had grinned as they had gasped. Or as Roman had gasped, Dean meanwhile had rifled in the envelope to make sure that the whole two thousand was there.

"Oh, ma'am," Roman had shaken his head, "That's real good of you, but we couldn't take your — ,"

Dean had elbowed him in the ribs and then swung him around in the direction of the Buick, which Hackett had managed to have towed from the ditch for him and which had, inexplicably, still worked.

"Okay, you take care now you crazy kids. Don't be strangers."

"_Ambrose_."

"Keep walkin' big guy."

That had been a week ago and while Dean still kind of misses having _Pumpkin_, not having to clear up the extra drool is kind of nice and the two thousand big ones had sure come in handy. Split two ways evenly between him and Roman of course.

Which is why come Monday morning — eleven days since the incident — he is sat looking smug in front of Detective Hackett's desk, with Seth and his medal perched sphinx like on his kneecap holding a flask of real coffee from his brand new coffee machine, which lives on top of the cabinet that Roman has cleared up for him. Because, oh yeah, Roman still works with him too and is even thinking of getting his PI licence. Well, once the office is all tidied up and filed of course.

Clamping a cigar between his lips with a grumble, Hackett leans back and makes a steeple of his hands, before shaking his head and blowing a sigh out,

"Plea bargain."

"What?"

"Ella Hurley," Hackett offers, as if maybe they're there to talk about someone else and he needs to narrow down the list of potentials, "They offered her a plea bargain late last night. Conspiracy to commit fraud and kidnapping charges in return for the Boseman murder charge being dropped."

Roman nearly chokes on his own flask of coffee. A Latte Macchiato. Still nothing fancy, which is okay, since Dean wouldn't want some froufrou coffee drinker as his partner in crime.

Or, well, the _opposite _of crime.

"She what?"

"But you can't freakin' _do_ that," Dean chokes out, "Jennifer was fuckin' murdered and she _did_ _it_."

Hackett sighs and then takes the cigar from his mouth to raise a brow at them, since he apparently can't quite manage to do both those things at the same time.

"Listen boys," he grunts, "I know that and you know that. I mean hell, we _all_ know that. But it is what it is. The corner's report on Boseman came back inconclusive, so if we want to make sure Ella Hurley is locked away, then the things we _can_ prove are the best way to do that."

Dean slumps back,

"Well it still fuckin' sucks."

"Yes it does," Hackett nods in agreement, "Which is why I wanted to tell you both myself _and_ add that Mrs Hurley and that damn idiot Doctor boyfriend are looking at between thirty and forty years. _Each_. Which should be something at least."

Dean shrugs,

"I mean I _guess_ so."

"Not so sure Jennifer's parents will agree," Roman winces in sympathy beside him, which the two of them know a damn site better than anyone, since they were the ones who had been to see the Bosemans to tell them what had happened to their poor little girl. Which had sucked just as much as it had done letting Brock go.

Hackett clears his throat.

He sounds gruff,

"I know, I know. But Christopher Hurley has already been in touch with them about creating a memorial garden at Blue Skies _and_ he's restarting that whole Global Fund thing."

Dean looks up in surprise,

"He is?"

"Yeah, him and that god damn dopey ass son of his are going to run it together. Hold on, they gave me a card," Hackett starts to fumble around on his desktop, _feng shuing_ bits of paper and case files from side to side and then patting at the pockets of his motheaten jacket, "Now where in the hell did I put the damn thing?"

"Looks like _you_ need to get an office manager," Dean grins smugly,

Hackett grunts,

"How about yours? Whaddya say Reigns? Fancy working for the police force?"

Roman smiles,

"Nah. I think I'm good where I am thanks."

"Plus he'll be taking his exams in a few months, then he won't be an office manager any more. He'll be a proper PI, just like I am."

"Oh great," Hackett drawls, "Another one you of yahoos. _Aha_."

Pulling a card with a flourish from his pocket, along with his car keys and a large white handkerchief, the detective passes it over the desktop and then gives Seth a scritch as he does, which the dog accepts, because ever since having been in battle together some sort of a grudging truce has evolved between the pair. Which is probably better than Seth biting a policeman, so Dean kind of figures that it's really a win-win. Roman picks up the card and reads it,

"The Jennifer Boseman Memorial Fund, helping people get access to mental healthcare. Christopher Hurley, president in chief. Henry 'Gunhawk' Hurley, co-president."

"Pair of them stopped by yesterday morning," Hackett chips in, "Wanted me to give you this."

Opening the creaky top drawer of his workspace, he pulls out an envelope with Dean's name scrawled on the top, along with a note that has been scribbled along the back, presumably to make sure he reads it before opening.

"Dear Ambrose. Please find enclosed as promised. Thank you for all your help," the scruffy PI shares a quick look with Roman, "What d' ya think it is?"

"Beats me brother," Roman shrugs, scooping Seth up off his lap and then cradling him so that Dean can open the envelope up. Hackett is smiling like he already knows what's in there, which he probably _does_ since he's a cop after all. Although it means he has probably misused police equipment or some sort of body scanning device to find out. Sliding his finger along the seam super clumsily, Dean rips it open and then pulls a check out, which he has to blink at to make sure he's not seeing things, but still thinks he is.

He slaps himself,

"Fuck."

"Babe?" Roman frowns from beside him, "What is it?"

"It's a check for fifty thousand dollars."

"It's what?" sitting forward so sharply that it flings Seth onto the desktop, Roman reaches over and snatches the bill up, managing _not_ to freaking slap himself like Dean had, but evidently not a whole hell of a lot further off.

He grins,

"Damn uce. You got enough to move offices, or maybe buy Seth another couple of bow ties."

"Or it's enough to pay off your mortgage," the private eye shrugs back, reclaiming the check. But only because he needs to have another look at it, or possibly pinch himself or _it_ to make sure it's real.

Roman snorts at him,

"Nah. I got another idea on that one. I'll tell you about it later."

Hackett clears his throat,

_Ahem_.

Seth has at some point crossed over the desktop and planted himself down onto the gruff detective's lap, which the older man is patently pretending hasn't happened, even though he is absently brushing through the dog's fur.

"Well now, if you two boys have quite finished with the god damn _tea party_ or whatever this is, there is another reason I asked you to stop by here."

He slides a casefile over the desk, which Dean pulls closer and then flaps open to reveal a grainy image of a young boy grinning back. Based on his sweater and the hideous bowl cut Dean guesses the photo must be twenty years old, although he doesn't have any idea who the kid is. He slides the file to Roman to have a look at, then shrugs.

"Uh, that some relative of yours or somethin'?"

Hackett rolls his eyes in long suffering,

"No son. That kid there is little Johnny Pickering. Eight years old. Been missing since nineteen eighty five. Last week the department decided to close his case down. But his mom still wants answers and I happen to know she'd pay if _someone_ was willing to chase the loose leads up. Someone reputable, someone she could trust."

Dean blinks,

"Wait, you're giving us _work_ now?"

"Call it a professional favour if you will. You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours, or you know, rally the troops in the middle of the night when one of you morons has been kidnapped by a dead broad and is being held captive in the middle of a church. Except don't make a habit of _that_ type of crap son. Because let me tell you, it gets real old, real fast," Hackett sits back, "So, what do you think boys? Can the two of you pains in my ass handle this?"

Dean looks at Roman and Roman looks back at him, then reaches out and sweeps the file up off the desk. Their first official assignment together.

As partners.

Dean grins,

"Ambrose and Reigns are on the case."

* * *

**One more chapter to go now folks. See you back here next week!**


	26. Twenty Six

**Here we are then everyone. Last chapter coming up and as always, thank you so much for coming with me on this ride and for leaving me reviews and love! Coming up next Thursday we have a new Dean/Lauren story. But for now, let's wrap things up here.**

**xXBalorBabeXx, Christopher Hurley isn't such a bad guy. A clueless husband, yes, but he's not the worst person in the world, so it made sense to me that he would want some good to come of everything. Thank you for always being such a faithful follower and reviewer!**

**Rebel8954, Well, there's always the possibility of more stories from this team. I mean, there's a lot of different ideas in my head, so I have a feeling that PIs Ambrose and Reigns and DPI (Dog PI) Seth will ride again! But until then, thank you so much for your reviews and enthusiasm for this crazy story!**

**Wolfgirl2013, Yep, Lauren and Dean next. But first I want to say a big thanks for all of your reviews for this story!**

**Phoenix lord of rebirth, Yep, after this chapter, these guys are all done for a little while. I'm glad you liked it so much though and a huge thank you for all of your reviews and encouragement too!**

**Cheryl24, Well, there are some advantages to having Sunny downstairs and besides, who would look after poor Carl? (Lol!) But anyway, thank you so much for reading and reviewing. It really means a lot.**

**Mandy, Oh no. Sorry about the bad luck on the job front. I can imagine how hard that must be, but I know you'll get to where you need to be eventually. My mum is okay thank you. She's finished treatment and now we just have to wait for the results. As ever my friend, thank you so much for always being there every chapter, reading and reviewing. See you next time!**

**Minnie1015, Yep, Pumpkin is safely back where he belongs, cowering under a little old lady's sofa! I do have a few ideas for a possible sequel (something involving Roman's old football team, or something around a TV show) but I need to let them germinate a bit more I think! In the meantime though, thanks millions and millions for your reviews. And sorry (not sorry) for all of the cliffhangers and suspense!**

**Wrestlingfanforever, Thank you and thank you for reviewing. Up next we're back for more fun times with Lauren and Dean!**

**Skovko, Yep, Dean may be sad to see Brock...uh, Pumpkin go, but never say no to cold hard cash! As always, thank you so much for being there and reviewing every step of the way. And thanks for being angry Pomeranian Seth's biggest cheerleader!**

**ViolentHugger03, Aww, thank you and thank you for your lovely reviews too. I would love to write a sequel. I've got some other Dean stories to work on first, but the PI thing definitely has more room to run!**

**XwwecoyoteX, I think real life Brock should just make it easier for all of us and rename himself Pumpkin! Sorry Carl wasn't there for the save, but I like to think he was watching the office for intruders while everyone else was out! Thank you so much for reviewing this chapter. It really means a lot to know that all the hard work and worry of writing is worth it!**

**Lunatic789, Well, wait no more because here it is. The last chapter (and also, a huge thank you for reviewing and following this story!)**

**Martha, Glad you've enjoyed the story, but I guess all good things must come to an end! Thank you for all your support and your reviews and I hope to see you at the next story!**

**One last time...**

* * *

**TWENTY SIX**

"_Dude_," Dean gapes, his jaw dropping in such astonishment that the Doublemint he's chewing on nearly falls out.

He is stood in the doorway to the Reigns' new and improved basement, which even Roman has to admit looks pretty damn impressive. As it should do after three weekends of painting, an eviction notice to the colony of Parsons spiders and approximately three and a half gallons of paint, in Montpelier Green to match his wife's new scatter cushions and to compliment her broader color scheme — which is in Cornflower White — and all of which seems to have impressed their new lodger.

Oh and his dog of course.

Dean blinks again,

"_Fudge_. This is like, even better than our last place."

He's back to substituting the word _fuck_ out again, since Roman's daughter had come rushing out to greet them and is out on the driveway playing with Seth. Not that she can probably hear them from out there, but Roman appreciates him trying nonetheless. Just like he appreciates the wide eyed expression and the halfway longing look that Dean is throwing towards the bed. The _actual_ bed, with a headboard and everything, instead of an ancient paper strewn couch. Roman grins back at him,

"You wanna try it out babe?"

"_Fudge_ yeah."

Dean promptly drops the lone cardboard box he's been carrying, which seems to contain his entire worldly goods, including a selection of Pomeranian sized clothing, an action figure of a wrestler and a couple of dog eared books. Along with the trusty handgun cigarette lighter tucked in beneath them, which in hindsight _had_ ended up being a pretty useful thing to have, since even Hackett hadn't been able to tell the difference between it and the real thing from a distance back in the church.

Crossing the room Dean pokes at the mattress and then slowly lowers himself down onto the sheets — like he's worried it won't be as good as he's hoping — before sinking right back with a husky groan of elation and a goofy ass smile,

"Now _this_ is what I'm talkin' about. Dude these _sheets_. I mean, are these Egyptian cotton? Because my sheets always came from like, Tennessee. An'_ whoa_, is this mattress one of those_ astronaut_ foam deals?"

Roman smiles at him,

"So does that mean you like it down here babe?"

"_Like_ _it_?" Dean blinks at him as if he's gone crazy, or inhaled too much paint fume, which incidentally he probably has, "Uce come on, I was livin' in an _office_ in a crappy old brownstone. So _yeah_ I like it. I mean, look. I got like an actual proper freakin' _bathroom_, an' a kitchen an' a closet to put all of my crap."

By which he means his jacket, the battered books and his lighter, which is pretty damn heartbreaking all things considered, but Roman likes to think it's a start if nothing else.

"Just can't believe you freakin' _want_ me," Dean shrugs back, "Like, livin' downstairs from your wife an' your kid, with my angry little dog an' like, all of my _craziness_."

He waves his hands in the air on the last word, as if craziness is something he's been told he has a few times before and in return Roman's mind drifts back to when he'd first been given the assignment and the way that Rachel from the agency had described him.

_A bit of a weird one._

"Hey," the big man frowns, trying to push that recollection back down again. Although he thinks about buying Rachel a fruit basket as well, to thank her for deciding that maybe he was the best fit for a scruffy private eye who couldn't keep a damn temp, "Some of us happen to _like _that craziness."

Dean looks down and then scratches his neck,

"S' just that nobody ever has. People just think m' kinda a pain in the ass mostly. _Fudge_. I mean a pain in the _butt_," he corrects, still working on the basis that his tiny new housemate has supersonic hearing.

Roman tousles the off-blonde hair,

"Not me babe and besides, you pay the bills now remember? So it kinda makes sense for me to keep you around and make sure that crazy dead women ain't damn well grabbing you at gunpoint, or getting their partners to beat you up in a park. _Or_ to make sure that your ass ain't rescuing any more animals."

"Hey," Dean protests, "We pay the bills _together_ now, an' besides, you love Carl and Seth."

"Seth maybe," Roman snorts back wryly, grinning as he picks up the sparsely filled box and then starts to arrange Dean's books on the dresser which his wife has set up at the foot of the bed. Beside it, in the open expanse of the basement, is a table and chairs tucked into a nook near the kitchenette, a couch — a _proper_ one with cushions and everything — and their old television bolted onto the wall, with more cupboard space leading through to the shower room.

Not that Dean needs extra cupboard space.

_Yet_.

"But that damn bird — ,"

"He just gets over excited," Dean offers protectively, "An' besides, he's better now. He barely even dive bombed the top of your head this week, _an_' he hasn't tried to peck your eyes out in days. I think maybe he didn't like Brock bein' there or somethin'. Got him all pissed. Uh, crap, I mean _mad_."

Because in spite of the check the grateful Hurleys had sent them, Dean had decided to stay put in the brownstone. Or at least on the private eye _office_ side of things, since he'd figured that Carl would probably need some looking after until he was old enough to find himself a wife and besides which, Sunny is the best security guard there is, so why would they have turned all that down for some swanky building with a doorman and air conditioning and real _bathrooms_?

Nah.

Roman chuckles.

"Whatever you say babe. Whatever you say."

In the corner of the basement over Dean's brand new kitchen is a staircase that leads up to the rest of the Reigns house, which opens suddenly in a rush of warm cooking smells to reveal Roman's wife in oven mitts holding a tray.

She's still in her nurse's uniform from her night shift, but since she tends to come back feeling buzzed she has clearly decided to pour the rest of her energy into baking their new lodger a patented welcome treat, since frankly she's about as excited as her husband to have Ambrose down there paying them rent, on an agreed on lower rate in exchange for babysitting and looking after the house if the three of them ever go away. Not that Roman has any plans on_ that_ though, since going away means having to stay with his mother in law and besides, he's now the co-owner in a business, so he _can't_ go away and he's sticking to that.

His wife beams eagerly,

"So, what do you think Dean? Do you like the colors? I picked them myself. _Roman_ over here," she rolls her eyes as she gets up to them, still juggling the steaming tray as she prods her husband in the ribs, "Was going to go with a red and grey color scheme. But I thought it might be nicer to go with something bright and neutral of course, so it would match with your belongings. Oh,"

Her eyes fall on the lone cardboard box, which briefly stops her excitable chatter.

Not that Dean notices.

"Are those snickerdoodles?" he asks, his blue eyes widening in what looks like starvation as he suddenly sits up from his dead slump on the bed, which takes a bit of struggling because of the mattress which — as he had guessed — is one hundred percent pure memory foam.

Roman's wife nods and then holds the baking tray out,

"They certainly are. But be careful, they're hot. I wanted to make sure we welcomed you properly to your brand new home."

"You baked them for me?" Dean blinks in response, staring open mouthed at the cinnamon goodness.

Roman's wife smiles,

"Of course, with extra chocolate chips. Want one?"

She offers the loaded tray upwards and Dean immediately pounces like a cat, grabbing the nearest snickerdoodle he can get at before promptly shoving half of the thing in his mouth, while at the same time groping around for a second one, like if he doesn't keep eating they might get taken away.

"Oh holy fudge," he moans, spraying crumbs everywhere, "That is like, _ho_ _man_, that's _really_ good. You should like, open a bakery or somethin'."

"Oh well, thank you Dean," Roman's wife beams, blushing a little with all the praise of her cooking, "But I mean, they're only snickerdoodles."

"_Snickerdoodles_," a small voice yells, as right on cue their sweet treat fiend of a daughter bursts into the basement with Seth hot on her heels and then bustles across to bounce on her shoe tips as Seth jumps up and makes himself comfy on the bed. Dean breaks off some doodle without any chip in it and passes it across to him, "Can I have one mama, please?"

"Of course you can baby," Roman's wife smiles fondly, sweeping her hand through her daughter's windswept hair and then lowering the tray so the youngster can pick one. Although the first one she chooses she passes across to her old man.

"Here papa, you have one too."

"Thank you baby girl."

"And now mama," she hands another doodle across and then saves the biggest for last, "And now my turn. There, now we all have one."

She takes a big bite and then tiptoes across to the bed where Seth and Dean are before looking up shyly.

"Do you, uh wanna sit up here?" Dean blinks, slapping a space on the mattress beside him when she nods back mutely, "The more the merrier kid. Careful now, don't drop your snickerdoodle. Want me to hold it for ya? Okay, there you go."

Roman watches the performance with a chuckle as Ambrose fusses around the little girl, clearly worried about her toppling over backwards or hurting herself as she clumsily clambers up. His best friend, his wife and his kid altogether, under the same damn roof where he can keep them all close and with Seth to back him up on security.

It might not be pro football, but he's a lucky, lucky man.

"To new starts and new friends," he grins, lifting his doodle and then watching as his wife and his brother do the same, although Dean might be doing it to try and stop Seth from eating it.

Roman's wife smiles at both of them.

"Welcome home Dean."

* * *

**Well, I couldn't leave the poor man sleeping in his office now could I?!**

**So, there you have it. I had lots of fun writing these two, so never say never to another one (I certainly have ideas). But first I'm long overdue on some of my other series (the Shield police stories, Lauren and Dean, Little Brother) so you might have to wait a little while for their next ride.**

**Thanks all.**


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